


Awesome Heroes, Just Like You and Me

by Kate_Marley



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Drabble Collection, Family, Funny, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-14
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-02-21 03:07:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 50
Words: 14,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2452496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kate_Marley/pseuds/Kate_Marley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ficlets about various countries, most of them funny. Almost exclusively Gen (no pairings).<br/>Latest: A ficlet about what it means to be “A Real Estonian”, “Coinage” about a problem Austria faces with a newly issued coin, and “Bach” about a music request by Austria.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dismantle HRE (Austria & Prussia)

‘Hey Austria’, Prussia said, ‘what do you think will happen if I click on that “Dismantle HRE” button in the mid-18th century?’ He slouched in front of his computer, in the midst of playing ‘Europa Universalis IV’, and started to giggle in his typical Prussia manner, _kesesese._

Austria looked up from the book he was reading, eyebrow arching up. ‘Why don’t you find out? You did your best to dismantle the Holy Roman Empire in your time, so why not repeat it in a strategy game?’

‘Aw, I’m just way too awesome to change history like that’, Prussia said and hopped to his feet. ‘Just fetching another coke. Mine’s empty.’

Austria stared at the image on the computer screen. He’d never admit it to Mr Awesome Me, but he actually liked strategy games.

There was the button, and the remote control was only inches from his reach.

What if he leant over just a little and …

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The joke in this is that Prussia started to shake the integrity of the Holy Roman empire from the 1740s onwards, but, in the end, it was Austria who actually ‘clicked the button’ and dismantled the Holy Roman Empire in 1806.
> 
> ~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
> 
> German translation: <http://www.fanfiktion.de/s/543ca21e00042e2731899a36/1/Awesome-Heroes-genau-wie-du-und-ich>


	2. Revelation (America & England)

‘America? What the _heck_ are you doing in my attic?’

‘Whoa, England, don’t make me jump like that! I was just looking for some sheets of paper to draw a mind map on. Can’t do that on the computer. Just takes too long. And look what I’ve found!’ America turned to England and held out a brownish, leathery object. ‘Look at that awful thing! Don’t know what that is, anyway. And the crappy handwriting on it! In that funny language!’ He laughed.

At first, England didn’t recognise what America was showing to him. Then, he scowled. ‘That is a parchment, you philistine! And what’s wrong with my handwriting? You have no idea how difficult it is to scratch letters into sheepskin!’

‘Whoops, sorry!’ America blinked behind his glasses.

England sighed. Why could he never be genuinely angry with that big child?

But America wasn’t finished yet. ‘Well, Artie, at least you have to admit the language is funny! What’s that supposed to mean, anyway? What’s an _yrþlingc?’_ He pronounced it like _jerpling._ ‘Sounds … jerky.’

England snatched the parchment out of America’s greasy hands. _Hwæt sægest þu yrþlingc,_ he read. _Oh._ That brought back memories.

‘That’s Old English, you silly git! And that letter is a _thorn!_ It’s pronounced like a _th,_ not like a _p!_ And in the beginning, it’s not a _j_ as in _jerk,_ but a short _i,_ as in _ink,_ plus _y,_ as in _yard! Yrþlingc_ means _earthling,_ someone tilling the earth! A ploughman! “What do you say, ploughman?” — that’s what this sentence means!’

America looked a little bored. ‘It still is a stupid sentence, Old English or not.’ He looked away.

‘It’s not stupid, you git! That Colloquy helped me master Latin at last, thanks to Ælfric of Eynsham, my really awesome teacher!’

‘Ælf … ric?’

_Whoops._ England blushed.

America looked at him in surprise. ‘Ælfric? Seriously? You named me after your _Latin teacher?’_ He pouted. ‘I always thought I was named after Alfred the Great.’

‘Alfie … I’m sorry I never told you. But’, England grinned, ‘you know, he really was a great teacher.’

‘I can’t believe it. Latin teacher.’ America shook his head in exasperation. ‘Thanks for nothing, you … you … _yrþlingc!’_

This time, he pronounced it correctly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ælfric of Eynsham ( _c._ 955 - _c._ 1010) was an abbot and scholar; Alfred the Great (849-899) was King of Wessex from 871 to 899. The ‘Æ’ in ‘Ælfric’ is pronounced in the same way as the ‘A’ in Alfred; the ‘ic’ is pronounced like ‘itch’. ‘Ælfric’ rather means something like ‘Alf-rick’ than ‘Alfred’, but I liked the idea of America, of all people, being named after a scholarly monk. :D


	3. Origins (Austria)

When the bishop entered the scriptorium, the monk and the little boy looked up from the slate displaying the boy’s clumsy, childish handwriting.

‘Look’, Gottschalk of Hagenau said and showed them a large parchment. ‘Can you find your name, little one?’

The boy’s strikingly coloured eyes — _were they really violet?,_ Gottschalk wondered — fixated on the parchment. With a focused frown, the boy searched the lines, silently forming words with his lips as he read them. Then, his whole face lit up with a smile. ‘It says possessions of Duke Henry of Bavaria _in regione vulgari vocabulo Ostarrîchi_ — in the region called Ostarrîchi in the vernacular — are granted to you, my bishop.’

‘Yes, Ostarrîchi, that was fine’, the bishop of Freising said, stroking the little boy’s brown hair. ‘I can see you are making good progress. But come with me now, both of you, it’s time for mass.’

‘Will the monks sing again at mass?’, the boy asked eagerly, and added, a little wary, ‘I’ll only come with you if they will.’

‘Yes, they will, but you don’t go to church for …’ The bishop’s voice trailed off as the boy’s hopeful eyes met his. _Never mind,_ he thought. _Perhaps to some, the wonders of creation are revealed through music. ___

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah. 209 words. Close to a double drabble.
> 
> On this day, 1018 years ago (1 November 996), the term ‘Ostarrîchi’, later becoming Austria (Österreich), was mentioned in a parchment (BayHStA, Kaiserselekt 859) for the very first time. (At least that’s what is thought; parchments with earlier mentionings of that name might have existed, but not come down to us.) At that time, Ostarrîchi was still part of the duchy of Bavaria, becoming independent as the duchy of Austria only in 1156, its ‘foundational document’ being the so-called _Privilegium minus_ (17 September 1156).


	4. Consolation?! (Spain & Romano)

‘Romanooo’, Spain howled into the receiver. ‘I’m sooo unhappy. Someone I don’t want to lose just turned his back on me.’

‘Your own fault’, Romano answered mercilessly. ‘You’re way too clingy, old man.’

‘But Romano, my little sweet …’

‘That’s exactly what I mean, tomato-eater. I’m not “your” Romano, and I’m neither little nor sweet!’

‘But what shall I do?’, Spain whined. ‘Catalonia wants to be independent from me! I …’

‘Ah, so the people voted pro-independence in the opinion poll? Great news! Sorry, old man, I’ll just hang up on you to phone Catalonia and congratulate him.’

The line clicked.

‘Romanooo …’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In yesterday’s (9 November 2014) public opinion poll, about 80% of the Catalans who turned out voted pro-independence. The opinion poll is not binding, because Spain’s constitutional court banned a referendum. (This time, it’s a ‘real’ drabble, by the way: precisely 100 words.)


	5. Get Rid of the Bavarians (Bavaria & Austria)

Bavaria was on his way to a conference of Alpine regions in Switzerland, when he crossed the border to his fellow federal state Baden-Wuerttemberg and saw it.

‘Kreizkruzifixnomal, wos is des?’, he burst out.

‘What is it, Bavaria?’, Austria asked, whom he had agreed to take with him in his car.

‘Now, look at _that!’,_ said Bavaria and pointed at an election poster hanging from one of the street lamps.

_‘Don’t you want to get rid of the Bavarians, too? Then vote for the Bavarian Party’,_ Austria read.

‘That … that is …’ Bavaria was struggling for words.

Austria giggled. ‘Well, if you want to separate from Germany so badly, you could as well join with me. Wouldn’t that be irony of fate?’

Bavaria glared at him in shock. ‘Over my dead body!’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **‘Kreizkruzifixnomal’** (literally: ‘cross and crucifix again’) is a rustic Bavarian curse; the rest of the sentence means ‘what’s that?’.
> 
> The **Bavarian Party (Bayernpartei)** is a Bavarian splinter party aiming at separating Bavaria from Germany. In the EU elections in 2009, it tried to get enough votes for a seat in the European Parliament by putting up posters with the slogan cited above — only in German federal states other than Bavaria, of course, and to no effect.
> 
> The **‘irony of fate’** Austria alludes to is the fact that Austria became a duchy by being separated from Bavaria in 1156 (also mentioned in Chapter 3).


	6. Canton Leftover (Vorarlberg & Switzerland)

‘Let me become your little brother!’

‘Sorry, Vorarlberg, I already have a little bro—‘ Why was Austria’s image popping up in his mind? Switzerland shook his head violently to get rid of it. ‘Er, I mean, a little sister. A very cute little sister. I don’t need a little brother.’

‘But there’s no way I stay with that loser Austria!’, cried Vorarlberg. ‘I don’t want to be a federal state. Let me become one of your cantons!’

‘Why would I want a semi-industrialised region like you as one of my cantons?’, Switzerland sneered. ‘Consider yourself lucky you’re good enough for cleaning the cloth I refine. Just take the money for it and be quiet.’

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Almost a century later, Switzerland ran across Vorarlberg when he visited the Austrian estates of one of his municipalities in the Rhine valley.

‘Hey, Canton Leftover! Still want to become part of glorious Helvetia?’

‘C’mon, you don’t really think I’d still want that. Your country is just expensive and your border police are impolite’, Vorarlberg said. ‘I’m making my own money now. You know, working for modern Southern German companies is way nicer than cleaning cloth. I don’t need you any more.’ Now it was Vorarlberg who sneered. ‘Seems like the grass is greener on my side of the border now.’

Switzerland’s jaw dropped. The only thing stopping him from grabbing Vorarlberg by the throat was the fact that his cute little sister was standing right next to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After the Central Powers, among them Austria-Hungary and Germany, had lost World War I, a referendum on 11 May 1919 in the Austrian federal state of Vorarlberg found that 82 per cent of all voters favoured joining Switzerland as a canton. Switzerland and the Allied powers were against it. As a consequence, the Swiss — or, according to the Swiss newspaper Neue Zürcher Zeitung, someone from Vorarlberg who favoured annexation by Germany instead of Switzerland — derogatorily called Vorarlberg ‘Canton Leftover’ (Kanton Übrig). Today, especially since Austria’s joining of the European Union in 1995, Vorarlberg has become a thriving and wealthy region. Some thousand commuters still work in Switzerland, but most people in Vorarlberg don’t want to become a canton of it any more. In spite of that, Swiss municipalities in the Rhine valley (Rheintal) still own vast estates in Vorarlberg.
> 
> Thanks to the user savicra of fanfiction.de for the plotbunny. :)


	7. Native Country of Cleanliness (Switzerland & Austria)

Switzerland was walking down the street with Austria when he saw it: One of the citizens of St Gall was about to dump a black rubbish bag on the street.

A _black_ rubbish bag.

Switzerland swiftly walked up to the man, not caring if Austria could keep up with him.

‘Excuse me’, he said, ‘could you be so kind as to explain to me why you are carrying with you a rubbish bag which is _not_ green and to which the fee stamp is _not_ affixed as required? You are without any doubt aware of the fact that this kind of misbehaviour is to be severely fined.’

The man seemed to feel _very_ embarrassed, apologised a thousand times and asserted it would never happen again.

Switzerland frowned when he saw the amused expression on Austria’s face.

‘What?’, he said defiantly. ‘The most beautiful thing is to have a spotlessly clean street. Is there anything wrong with that?’

Austria genteelly lifted a hand in order to hide the grin on his face. ‘Of course not’ he said, trying to keep the chuckle out of his voice. ‘Tüpflischisser.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are actually people employed by the city of St Gall to ‘patrol’ the streets in search of unlawfully deposited rubbish. I just saw that on TV and immediately wanted to write a story about it.
> 
> The title is a nod to Hungarian-born Israeli satirist Ephraim Kishon’s (1924-2005) stories about Switzerland.
> 
> ‘Tüpflischisser’ is Swiss German for ‘nitpicker’.


	8. Shared Cultural Heritage (Ukraine, Austria, & France)

When France saw Ukraine and Austria sitting together at the conference table, he stopped dead in his tracks. He hadn’t seen the female nation’s smile for a long time. He’d have thought she had little to smile about since the beginning of the crisis in her country, anyway. But now he saw her smiling. At prim Austria, of all people.

Nosily, he sneaked up on his fellow countries.

‘Seriously?’, Austria said. ‘The members of the City Council even complain about a statue commissioned by a private initiative?’

‘Well, the people there are deeply conservative’, explained Ukraine. ‘At least the older ones. I think they’re a bit ashamed of him. They’re more fond of promoting other things, like the fact that Lviv was the first European city to introduce streetlights in 1853.’

‘I think they’re missing out on a branding opportunity’, said Austria. ‘He may be no Mozart, but his name is known practically all over the world. Well, the last part of his name, in any case.’

_So they’re talking about a composer,_ France thought, feeling a little disappointed. _How boring._

He was about to turn away, when Ukraine pointed out: ‘Oh, perhaps that’ll change one day. Some younger people think he’s quite interesting. There’s even a café named after him.’ She chuckled. ‘The staff told me men scream more than women during a whipping.’

‘What the _hell_ are you two talking about?’, France blurted out.

‘About a citizen of Lemberg … Lviv with Austrian roots’, Austria said innocently.

‘About Leopold von Sacher-Masoch and masochism’, said Ukraine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Leopold Ritter von Sacher-Masoch** (1836-1895) was an Austrian writer. **Lviv** (Львів, German name Lemberg), where he was born, had become Austrian after the First Partition of Poland in 1772. It became Polish again after Austria had lost the First World War in 1918 and Ukrainian after the dissolution of the Soviet Union in 1991. Sacher-Masoch is probably best known for his novella _Venus in Furs (Venus im Pelz,_ 1870), which examines issues like female dominance and sadomasochism. (All right, the last sentence did it. This is rated to ‘T’ now.) In his book _Psychopathia Sexualis_ (1886), Viennese psychiatrist Richard Freiherr von Krafft-Ebing (full name Richard Fridolin Joseph Freiherr Krafft von Festenberg auf Frohnberg, genannt von Ebing, 1840-1902) coined the term ‘masochism’ as a deviant clinical condition, much to the dismay of Sacher-Masoch and his supporters.
> 
> I wrote this after reading the article ‘City in Ukraine Tied to Masochism Finds Link Painful, Sure, but Some Like It’ by Andrew Higgins in _The New York Times_ (14 Nov 2014), online at <http://www.nytimes.com/2014/11/15/world/city-tied-to-masochism-finds-link-painful-sure-but-some-like-it.html>.


	9. ‘A kind of polite bully’? (Germany, Italy, France, England, & Canada)

Germany sat bent over an issue of the _New York Times_ America had handed to him. Suddenly, he looked up and asked: ‘Am I a bully?’

‘Vee~?’ Italy looked at him in confusion.

‘This article says, European countries with financial difficulties think I am “a kind of polite bully”’, explained Germany. ‘I was wondering if …’

‘Yes’, France said bluntly. ‘You _are_ a polite bully. Especially that Chancellor Merkel of yours!’

‘Noo, Germany’s no bully!’, Italy objected. ‘Germany’s a really, really nice country!’

‘I don’t think he is a bully, either’, England tossed in. ‘In my opinion, it is the European Union as such …’

‘You just don’t want to pay more money to the EU, because your economy is stronger than expected!’, France ranted. ‘Where’s your handbag, anyway?’

‘I don’t have a handbag, you twat!’

…

Canada sighed and wondered when their G7 meeting would finally start. Usually, it was Germany who stopped the quarrels of the others, but of course, this only worked if he was not in the midst of a quarrel himself …

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quotation is taken from the article ‘Berlin After the Wall: A Microcosm of the World’s Chaotic Change’ by Michael Kimmelman in _The New York Times_ (18 November 2014), online at <http://www.nytimes.com/2014/11/18/world/europe/berlin-after-the-wall-a-microcosm-of-the-worlds-chaotic-change-.html>
> 
> France’s allusion to the handbag refers to the way in which British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher (1925-2013) demanded a reduction of Great Britain’s payments to the European Community (today’s EU) in 1984: She used ‘I want my money back’ as her motto for this so-called ‘UK rebate’ while fidgeted with her handbag.


	10. Synonyms (Austria)

Austria was sipping a coffee in one of his favourite cafés (with a particularly good view to St. Stephen’s Cathedral), when he heard them. Three girls were sitting at the table next to his, apparently chatting about an article they were going to write.

‘All right, so … Can any of you think of a synonym for “wealthy countries”, other than “rich”?’, the first girl said.

‘How about “developed countries”?’, the second one suggested.

‘No, that’s not really it’, the first girl objected. ‘I think you can be a developed country without being rich. Just think of Ireland and Iceland during the financial crisis.’

‘And how about “important countries”?’, the second one asked.

‘I think it’s the same as with “developed countries”’, the third girl chimed in. ‘You can be quite wealthy without being that important. Just think of Austria.’

_Thank you very much,_ Austria thought sarcastically and shot her his best death stare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a real incident (without Austria’s death stare, of course).


	11. Awesome DVDs (Prussia/Austria)

Austria sat on his sofa, busying himself with needle and thread. He was sewing the hem of one of Hungary’s traditional dresses, which was splayed over his lap. Prussia slouched next to him, watching an English-language DVD.

‘What is this series you’re watching?’, Austria asked after some time.

‘It’s one of those sitcoms I borrowed from Alfred’, Prussia replied. ‘It’s called _How I Met Your Mother._ This is Episode 58 of 208.’

Austria suppressed a sigh. _Does this mean he’ll watch the remaining 150 episodes in my presence as well?,_ he wondered. _Looks like I have to go through everything._

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

‘Look!’, Prussia cried out.

Austria looked up from his needlework. ‘What is it?’

‘Look at that Barney guy!’ Prussia pointed at a blond man. ‘He’s a total jerk, but he gets all the girls! Isn’t that cool?’

‘You’re sounding like America’, Austria commented dryly, watching as ‘that Barney guy’ went looking for a woman who was trying to warn others from sleeping with him. Somehow, the man’s obnoxious behaviour reminded Austria of someone, but he couldn’t quite put his finger to it. Then, Barney started to write a blog entry. As he finished with ‘I’m awesome’, the penny dropped.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

‘He really gets all the girls’, Prussia repeated, put off by Austria’s reaction.

‘Yes, that’s probably what sets you apart.’ Austria still pondered over the striking resemblance he had noticed. ‘Besides, isn’t the one who plays Barney gay, anyway?’ Sometimes, it proved useful to eavesdrop when Hungary and Liechtenstein were chatting.

‘Whatever’, Prussia said. ‘But what do you mean, that sets us apart?’

‘Because it’s me who got the girl.’

‘You mean, you got the girl’s dress to sew. And who says I didn’t get the girl?’ He reached over, pulling Austria into his embrace.

_‘Not_ a _girl’,_ Austria hissed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know, this is all just very silly. But it’s a triple drabble, with _precisely_ a hundred words each (according to Word)! I’m really no good at formal rules, so that’s at least some kind of achievement …
> 
> The episode of _How I Met Your Mother_ they’re watching is Season 3, Episode 14 (or 58, if you don’t count the seasons), called _The Bracket,_ originally titled _The Final Four._ Austria is right about Neil Patrick Harris (Barney Stinson) being gay. I must admit I only ever watched, like, three episodes of _HIMYM,_ but some of my friends kept filling me in.


	12. Food Choices (France & Liechtenstein)

‘Um, Francis … you remember I told you I’ve become a vegetarian, don’t you?’

‘Oui, ma fleurette, je m’en souviens bien’, France replied, giving Liechtenstein his most beautiful smile.

‘Y— yes, I did. So I was wondering …’ She didn’t know how to put it without offending him.

‘Mais oui, ma chère, I cooked all of those beautiful moules just for you. I hope you like them.’ He beamed at her.

‘Yes, I really appreciate that, but …’

‘Don’t worry, it wasn’t too much of a hassle. I also like moules a lot.’

Liechtenstein sighed inwardly and gave up. Quite obviously, France’s understanding of vegetarianism needed getting used to, just like himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seems like quite some people (not only French ones) can’t imagine being a vegetarian also means not eating fish and seafood.
> 
> Translations:  
> \- Oui, ma fleurette, je m’en souviens bien = Yes, my little flower, I remember it well  
> \- Mais oui, ma chère = Why, yes, my dear  
> \- une moule = a mussel


	13. Dark Side (Turkey & Austria, present time)

‘What a beautiful place’, said Austria, as they stood in front of the Fatih Mosque in Istanbul. ‘Thank you for showing it to me, Sadıq.’

Turkey was among the few countries Austria preferred calling by their given names, if only not to accidentally call him ‘Ottoman Empire’. Their history of mutual warfare was long in the past, but, on a personal level, their relations had never been normal, whatever that word meant. They respected each other, but there always was some awkward tension, quite unlike the one between Austria and Switzerland. Some … reserve. If Austria was courteous in general, his manners when dealing with the masked man were _extremely_ polite.

‘I’m glad you appreciated it’, said Turkey, who was no less polite towards Austria. ‘I always enjoy showing the culture of my country to people who are genuinely interested.’ He paused, apparently struggling with himself. ‘But maybe there are … other aspects about this city … people should also know about. Will you allow me to show you … what isn’t in the tourist guides?’

Austria simply nodded.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

They didn’t have to walk for long. Soon, they were at a place where half of the houses had already been torn down, most of the others were warped and well beyond repair, but some still intact and beautiful.

‘All of this will soon be destroyed’, Turkey said. ‘They’re building a new neighbourhood here, mostly office buildings. The former inhabitants had to leave. They wouldn’t be able to afford any of the new flats anyway.’

‘This is sad’, said Austria quietly. ‘All those houses … They must be over a hundred years old.’

‘Perhaps, after some decades, people will regret what gets destroyed here and at other places in this city’, Turkey speculated. ‘As for the _konaks_ … the wooden houses which are already falling apart: It’s something of a tradition here to save demolition costs by waiting until they’re collapsing of their own accord … or by waiting until politicians and construction companies decide to tear down the whole neighbourhood.’ He sighed. ‘That’s the way things are in this place. Do you still think Istanbul is beautiful, Roderich?’

‘Yes’, Austria said firmly. ‘Your politicians should put more effort into preserving your cultural heritage for future generations, but the fact that they apparently don’t doesn’t make Istanbul less beautiful.’ He smiled. ‘Thank you for trusting me enough to show me even this side of your city.’

Under his mask, Turkey smiled back. Both countries had the impression that they now understood each other better.


	14. Christmas Carols (Austria, Hungary, Prussia … and others)

Austria suppressed a groan when Hungary butchered his cultural heritage. ‘Sleep in heavenly pea-hiiiice, sle-ep in heavenly peace’, she sang with eardrum-shattering pitch and volume. _How is anyone supposed to sleep in heavenly peace during such a noise?,_ he wondered. _And when, when will people finally realise that the first ‘peace’ isn’t even half as high-pitched as they seem to believe it is?_

He left the kitchen and entered the living room, in which some of the other countries had gathered for Germany’s Christmas party. Unfortunately, they had already discovered Prussia’s high-fi system. ‘Laaast Christmas I gave you my heart…’ by _Wham!_ sounded through the room.

_Dear me,_ Austria thought. _How often did they play this when I was shopping in December? I can’t hear it any more!_

Apparently, Prussia had had the same thought. ‘C’mon, England, that’s totally un-awesome!’, the Awesome Me shouted. ‘Let me introduce you to some real cool Christmas stuff!’

Seconds later, a song Austria barely recognised as ‘Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer’ blared through the speakers. _Who’d have thought that you could squeeze that many grunts and screams in a song like this?,_ Austria wondered. And who had given Prussia that Metal Christmas CD, anyway?

At that, Hungary darted out of the kitchen and cried: ‘Come on, guys, let’s sing ourselves! Austria, you’ll play for us, won’t you?’

‘Very well’, Austria said, defeated. What else could he have done? _At least,_ he told himself as he sat down by the piano, _now it’s me who gets to pick the next song._ He chose ‘Adeste fideles’ … and immediately regretted his decision, when the cacophony of different languages hit his eardrum.

‘Nun freut euch, ihr Christen, singet Jubellieder…’, Germany and Prussia sang.

‘O come, all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant…’ England, of course.

‘Ô peuple fidèle, Jésus vous appelle…’ That was France.

‘Venite, fedeli, l’Angelo c’invita…’, sang the Italian brothers.

Some others were sensible enough to choose the Latin version: ‘Adeste fideles læti triumphantes…’

… and Austria was certain he heard other languages as well. _Why can’t they even decide on a single language for one song?,_ he asked himself. He was tempted to slam his head on the black and white keys … but then, the musicians on the _Titanic_ had played on as well, hadn’t they?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **‘Stille Nacht’ (Silent Night)** was written by Austrian Catholic priest Joseph Franz Mohr (1792-1848) and set to music by Austrian primary school teacher and church organist Franz Xaver Gruber (1787-1863) in 1818. The UNESCO declared it Austrian intangible cultural heritage in 2011.
> 
> Dez Fafara, Doug Aldrich, Blasko, and John Tempesta sing the Metal version of **‘Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer’** Prussia listens to on the CD _We Wish You A Metal Xmas._
> 
> **‘Adeste fideles’** was probably written by John Francis Wade (1711-1786), though this is contested. The original version is in Latin. It’s my favourite Christmas carol (in any language).


	15. New Year’s Concert (Austria & Spain)

‘Don’t you think that’s weird?’, Spain almost shouted into Austria’s ear.

‘What’s—’ Austria quieted down and whispered: ‘What’s weird?’

Spain waited until everyone started to clap again. Then, he shouted: ‘That! That clapping! Doesn’t it destroy the music?’

‘Don’t people clap rhythmically during rock concerts, too?’, Austria asked with feigned innocence, never ceasing to clap.

‘Yes, but this is classical music! You can’t even hear it properly any more!’

‘It’s become an Austrian custom!’, Austria chirped cheerfully. ‘Besides, do you have any idea how often I’ve heard the Radetzky March in my lifetime?’

Spain sighed and gave up. There were aspects about his fellow music-loving country he would never, _never_ understand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Radetzky March, Op. 228, was written by Austrian composer Johann Strauss, Sr (1804-1849) in 1848. It is usually the final piece of the New Year's Concert of the Vienna Philharmonic, first performed in 1939. (Yes, the concert was a National Socialist ‘invention’. -.-) During the Radetzky March, the audience traditionally claps along with the beat. The argument about this is probably as traditional as the clapping itself…
> 
> It’s 31 December 2014 today (in Western and Central European Time), so I wish all of you who read this a happy new year!


	16. Walruses (the Baltics, Russia, & Belarus)

Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania were shivering. It was deathly cold. They were standing on a frozen lake, watching Russia and Belarus. The siblings were busily cutting the ice with chainsaws, creating two rows of squared floes.

When they were finished, Russia turned to the three Baltics and said cheerily: “Come on, let’s hop over the ice floes! You’ll see, it’s lots of fun!” Then, he jumped from floe to floe until he reached the frozen surface where it was uncut.

The three Baltics exchanged doubtful glances.

“If you don’t go of your own accord, I’ll push you”, Belarus said sweetly.

Estonia gulped. Then, he hopped onto the first floe and followed Russia’s example. Lithuania followed suit, with Latvia bringing up the rear. Latvia nearly slipped, but Estonia, who had reached the other side in the meantime, pulled him out of the lake.

“Now, let’s clear away the ice floes!”, cried Belarus after jumping over them herself. At that, Russia and her took up two pickaxes, lifting the floes out of the lake.

Lithuania and Estonia exchanged despairing glances when they realised the result looked a lot like a swim lane. Indeed, Russia and Belarus stripped. Russia wore swimming trunks, Belarus a swimsuit.

Belarus jumped in first. “Ah, splendid!”, she exclaimed as she crawled to the other end of the swim lane.

Lithuania shot Estonia another glance. _Splendid?!,_ his gaze seemed to say.

“I think we have to…”, droned Estonia.

“Of course you have to!”, said Russia, beaming at them. “It’s wonderful!”

“Come on, the water isn’t cold at all!”, cried Belarus.

Estonia looked at Lithuania. _They’re insane!,_ his eyes said.

“We knew that before, didn’t we?”, Lithuania replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was inspired by a report about Russian ice swimmers who call themselves “walruses” on the German TV programme “Weltspiegel” (ARD) on 18 January 2015. Some Orthodox Christians also celebrate the baptism of Jesus Christ, which they believe took place in the night between January 18th and 19th, with ice swimming.


	17. Córdoba or Königgrätz? (Austria & Prussia)

“Just you wait, Austria, this is going to be your most devastating defeat since Königgrätz!”

“In your dreams, Prussia, in your dreams! This is going to be a new Córdoba!”

“Pshaw. You spoil-sports merely won so that you could kick us out of the world cup with you!”

_“Us?_ Since when do you identify with the 1978 football team of the FRG, ex-GBR?”

“As if that mattered today! Anyway, I always identify with your opponents, unless we happen to fight on the same side.”

“Very well. You better take care of your defence, Prussia. — Ha, that one was in! 4–3! Remember, SK Rapid Wien vs. Schalke 04?”

“Yadda, yadda. I remember very well how rotten you felt after losing your independence, _Eastern March,_ so don’t tell me about your so-called German championship of 1941!”

“Aaand that one was in, too! Your Prussian glory leaves much to be desired today, right?”

“Just you wait, I won’t let you get away with that so easily! I’m awesome, after all!”

…

“Oh yes, it would truly be awesome to beat you at table football, Prussia!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, there are certainly more creative ideas than this one … but somehow, I just couldn’t resist.
> 
> According to Viennese author Friedrich Torberg (1908-1979, actually Friedrich Ephraim Kantor-Berg), it was Austria’s **“most devastating defeat since Königgrätz”** _(„vernichtendste Niederlage seit Königgrätz“)_ when it lost 1–6 against Germany during the football world cup in Switzerland in 1954. Königgrätz was Austria’s decisive defeat during the Austro-Prussian War of 1866.
> 
> **“Córdoba”** is an allusion to the 2–3 victory of the Austrian national football team against the team of the FRG (Federal Republic of Germany a.k.a. West Germany) during the intermediate stage of the football world cup of 1978 in the Argentinian city of Córdoba. At that time, it was already certain that Austria was eliminated. The FRG was also eliminated with their defeat against Austria. In Austria, the score is known as the “miracle of Córdoba” _(„Wunder von Córdoba“),_ while, in Germany, it is the “disgrace” _(„Schmach“)_ or “shame of Córdoba” _(„Schande von Cordoba“)._
> 
> After Austria had lost its independence with the so-called “Anschluss” to the German Reich in 1938 and came to be called _Ostmark (Eastern March),_ Austrian football teams also participated in the German championship. In 1941, **SK (Sportklub) Rapid Wien** became German champion when it beat Schalke 04 4–3, even though Schalke had been thought to be vastly superior and had even been up 3–0 during the match.
> 
> **“Prussian glory”** is an allusion to the military march „Preußens Gloria“ _(“Prussia’s glory”)._ Johann Gottfried Piefke (1815-1884) composed it after the victory of Prussia and its allies in the Franco-Prussian War of 1870/71.
> 
> ~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
> 
> I feel honoured that there is a Chinese translation of this story now, made by Shelry ([SHEParallelWorld](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/6167413) on ff.net). It can be found under <http://fengzhidaizouaishang.lofter.com/post/45eaaa_5c4ad78> and <http://tieba.baidu.com/p/3580121025> :-)


	18. Ridiculous (Poland)

_Warshaw, end of May 2007_

“This is _so_ ridiculous!” Angrily, Poland slammed his fists onto the speaker’s desk. “Seriously, Mr Dorn, what will the world think of us? An inquiry panel! Due to such nonsense!”

The speaker of the Sejm sighed. “You’re right, it’s just a children’s programme.”

“If you like woman’s handbags and enjoy wearing purple, that doesn’t mean at all you’re gay!”, Poland hissed. “Please tell Ms Sowińska she can’t do that!”

“Don’t worry, Mr Łukasiewicz, that’s what I was planning to do anyway”, Dorn answered calmly.

“All right, thanks in advance, then. And now please be so kind as to excuse me, my ballet lesson is starting.” Poland took his black handbag from Dorn’s visitor’s chair, gathered his pink tutu together, and swooshed out of the speaker’s office.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Ludwik Dorn gazed after Poland for a moment, wondering if he should ask... No, the speaker of the Sejm decided. Sometimes, it was better not to know too much about certain things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Polish spokesperson for children’s rights, Ewa Sowińska (born 5 March 1944), a member of the national-clerical League of Polish Families (Liga Polskich Rodzin, LPR), considered a ban on the _Teletubbies_ in May 2007. She justified this by claiming Tinky Winky might convey “homosexual values” to children due to his purple jumper and his black woman’s handbag. At that, Ludwik Stanisław Dorn (born 5 June 1954), a member of the party “Law and Justice” (Prawo i Sprawiedliwość, PiS) who was speaker of the Sejm from 27 April to 4 November 2007, asked Sowińska not to expose the Polish government to ridicule. The Sejm is one of the two chambers of the Polish parliament.


	19. By Any Other Name (Austria, Bavaria, & Prussia)

„That’s always been my parking spot!“

„Now it’s mine, _kesesese!_ An awesome parking lot is due to someone as awesome as me!”

“Oh shut up, you stupid _Siach!”_

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Austria lowered the book he had been reading with a sigh. There went his Sunday rest. He could put up with Prussia and Bavaria when they appeared single, but both of them at the same time were straining his nerves way too much.

Caustria seemed to sense his mood, like cats did, and jumped onto his lap. “At least, you have some compassion for me, Wolferl”, he addressed the animal, patting its head.

“Wolferl?”, an incredulous voice asked from the direction of the door. “Caustria doesn’t exactly look like a wolf. That old bedside rug of yours doesn’t even look like a tiny version of a tiger!”

“You really have no clue, _Saupreiß”,_ Bavaria cut in. To Austria, he said: “I always knew you’re odd, but don’t you think it’s a little exaggerated to name your cat after Mozart?”

“You think so? Brother dear, didn’t you once bottle-feed a lion cub at Hellabrunn Zoo? If I remember correctly, you called it ‘Tassilo’”, Austria replied sweetly.

Bavaria turned a conspicuous shade of pink. Prussia smirked and was probably about to make a cheeky comment on Bavarian lions, but Austria didn’t let it get that far. “Ah, yes, Prussia”, he added, “didn’t you call your horse ‘Friedrich’ once? In the Napoleonic Wars, wasn’t it?”

“Friedrich!” Bavaria snorted with laughter.

“Why, ‘Tassilo’ isn’t any better!”

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

“Come on, Wolferl”, Austria told his cat, “let’s brew coffee.” With these words, he left the squabblers alone. He didn’t tell them he’d actually have preferred to name Caustria after Beethoven, but the name ‘Ludwig’ had already been assigned to someone else…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Siach” is Bavarian and Swabian dialect for “stupid, repulsive guy”. “Saupreiß” is a Bavarian swearword for “Prussians”, i.e. basically everyone north of the German River Main.
> 
> Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827) and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (1756-1791) are composers of the Viennese classicism. “Friedrich” is Frederick II. of Prussia (1712-1786), of course, and “Tassilo” refers to the last Bavarian duke of the Agilolfings, Tassilo III. (c 741-c 796). The Hellabrunn Zoo in Munich, Bavaria, exists since 1911.
> 
> The idea that the countries name animals after historical characters is inspired by Condé (1766-1804), the horse of Frederick the Great, which was named after the French commander Louis II. de Bourbon, prince de Condé (1621-1686).
> 
> The title “By Any Other Name” is an allusion to Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet: “[T]hat which we call a rose / By any other name would smell as sweet” (Act II, Scene 2).


	20. Fish (Iceland & Latvia)

„Latvia? Hello, it’s Iceland.“

„Hi Emil, how are you?“

„Erm, fine, Raivis, but I’m not ringing for polite conversation. It’s … Well … I was going to tell you … I don’t want to become a member state of the EU any more.”

“…”

“You know, my financial system is recovering, I’m a Schengen member state anyway, and I think being a member of the EFTA is sufficient to foster trade relations with the EU.”

“It’s the fish, isn’t it?”

“Erm, yeees… I can’t accept the EU’s fishing quota. My economy is dependent fishing. After all, three quarters of my exports consist of fish.”

“I knew it! I suspected in 2013 already, when your government suspended the accession talks and that singer of yours gilled fish in the video to his entry for the Eurovision Song Contest!”

_Pause._

“It was only _one_ fish”, Iceland said quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iceland decided to join the EU during its severe financial crisis in 2009. Accession talks started in 2011, but the newly elected Icelandic government decided to suspend them in 2013. Yesterday (12 March 2015), it officially withdrew its application for accession. It was clear Iceland would do so since 2014, though.
> 
> Emil rings Raivis, because Latvia is the current holder of the Presidency of the Council of the European Union.
> 
> EFTA is short for European Free Trade Association. Its member states are Iceland, Norway, Switzerland, and Liechtenstein, all of which aren’t in the EU.
> 
> The Schengen Area is a free travel area which consists of most EU member states and the EFTA states. Of the EU member states which haven’t joined the Schengen Area yet, Bulgaria, Croatia, Cyprus, and Romania are going to join it, while the UK and Ireland (who else?) are opt-outs.
> 
> The song/video Raivis refers to is “Ég á líf” by Eyþór Ingi Gunnlaugsson.  
> Video: <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PtunhyMW1hM> (Attention, dead fish at 1:15)  
> Lyrics (Icelandic & English): <http://www.diggiloo.net/?2013is>


	21. Nouns (England & America)

“Bloody hell! What is that bloody language, anyway!”

“Artie? What are you reading?”

“I’m reading that bloody paper of that bloody German for that bloody G8 meeting! Which you should have read as well! And don’t ‘Artie’ me, Alfred, will you?”

“Oh c’mon Artie, I’m the hero! I don’t have to read Germany’s boring speeches! They always sound the same anyway.”

“I suppose they wouldn’t be half as boring if he wrote them in a comprehensible way… I mean, look at that: ‘The determination of power generation technologies for the reduction of emissions and the conservation of resources is decisive for the attainment of our climate targets.’ What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Something about… climate change? That doesn’t sound English, does it?”

…

“No, it bloody well doesn’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The English language is much more verbal than German.
> 
> Possible German original (derived from an actual text about climate change, but I substituted as many remaining verbs with nouns as I could): „Die Ermittlung von Energieerzeugungstechnologien zur Verminderung von Emissionen und Schonung von Ressourcen ist entscheidend für die Erreichung unserer Klimaziele.“
> 
> Proper translation (verbal style): “In order to attain our climate targets, it is decisive to determine technologies which reduce emissions and save resources.”
> 
> The funny thing is that you could actually say it like that in German and it would sound more comprehensible as well: „Um unsere Klimaziele zu erreichen, ist es entscheidend, Technologien zu ermitteln, die Emissionen vermindern und Ressourcen schonen.“
> 
> Different conventions in academic language...


	22. Austrialia (Austria & Spain)

“Hello, Tonio. It’s me, Roderich.”

“¡Hola, Rodrigo! It’s always good to hear your voice. Are you going to prank-call me on April Fool’s Day?”

“No, but you know what? England just prank-called me and invited me to the next meeting of the Commonwealth member states!”

“Haha! Hello, Australia!”

“Precisely. I’m seriously thinking about showing up, just to see his face. Do you think Vanuatu would care to part with Espíritu Santo just for one day?”

“¡Pues claro! This is brilliant! Ask them if they could set up a sign for you saying ‘Austrialia’, will you?”

“I will”, Austria said, grinning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha! A “real” drabble (100 words), this time!
> 
> Aristotle (384-322 BC) and Ptolemy (AD 90-c. 168) both assumed there had to be a landmass in the Southern Hemisphere of Earth, balancing the lands on the Northern Hemisphere. Various naval expeditions searched for this hypothetical _terra australis incognita_ (Latin for “the unknown land of the South”) in the early modern period, and only James Cook’s (1728-1779) second voyage around the world (1772-1775) disproved its existence. One of those navigators, who went in search for “Terra Australis” for King Philip III of Spain (1578-1621, King 1598-1621) and Pope Clement VIII (1536-1605, Pope 1592-1605), was Portuguese-born Pedro Fernandes de Queirós (1565-1614, Spanish Pedro Fernández de Quirós). Quirós discovered a large island he assumed to be this legendary “southern continent” in May 1606. He called it “Austrialia del Espíritu Santo” (Spanish for “The Austrialian Land of the Holy Spirit”), inserting the “i” as a pun on the Casa de Austria (House of Habsburg) in honour of Philip III from the Spanish branch of the Habsburg family. The island Espíritu Santo is a part of today’s Republic of Vanuatu, which is in fact a member state of the Commonwealth of Nations, formerly known as the British Commonwealth, since 1980.


	23. Easter Walk (Germany & Prussia)

“From the ice they are freed, the stream and brook…”

“Is that so? It snowed just a few days ago!”

“…by the Spring’s enlivening, lovely look.”

“Are you frickin’ kidding me? It’s about 46°F outside! The sun may be shining, but it’s darn cold.”

“The valley greens with joys of hope.”

“Nothing greens! Except for that meadow, but that was green all the while.”

“The Winter old and weak ascends…”

“Weak? _Weak?_ May I remind you of that darned storm we just had?”

“…back to the rugged mountain slope.”

“If I tell Roddy you babbled something about ‘rugged mountain slopes’ in Berlin, he’ll just laugh at you! Really, little brother, you sometimes go overboard with your purportedly Faustian German soul!”

…

“Stop spoiling my Easter walk, Gilbert, and _just imagine_ it wasn’t only sunny but also warm!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, I won’t win a prize for particular creativity with that, but I simply liked the idea…
> 
> Ludwig’s lines, except for his last one, are taken from Faust and Wagner’s Easter walk in “Faust I” by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (towards the beginning of the scene “Vor dem Tor”, i.e. “In Front of the Gate”). I used the translation by Edgar Alfred Bowring (1853) with one slight alteration (“the valley greens” instead of “the valley’s green”; Prussia’s remark wouldn’t have made any sense otherwise).


	24. Eagles (Prussia & Austria)

“Hey, Specs!”, Prussia shouted deafeningly in Austria’s right ear.

Austria almost jumped. He had been too focused on the music he was writing to pay much attention to his surroundings. “Don’t call me ‘Specs’”, he replied indignantly.

“All right, Roddy, but look at that image Finland sent me!”, Prussia said, still talking way too loud for the Austrian’s taste. He shoved his laptop onto the closed font lid of Austria’s piano and pointed at the screen.

“That’s the lesser coat of arms of the Austrian lands from 1915 by Hugo Gerard Ströhl”, Austria said like a shot. “All right, minus the sceptre and the crowns, and the imperial orb looks different, too, but in essence, it is Ströhl’s coat of arms.”

“O— okay, if you say so…” Prussia seemed stunned, even though he knew Austria had always had a knack for heraldry.

“Though I don’t remember I ever had a coat of arms referring to me as the ‘Austrian Metal Empire’”, Austria added in that dismissive nasal upper-class accent of his that never failed to drive Prussia mad.

“Actually, I wanted to annoy you with that logo”, Prussia said sulkily.

“I thought as much”, Austria replied, still using the same accent. “Did it ever cross your mind that your awesome self isn’t the first person who ever had the idea to show this to me during the past years?”

“Erm … Switzerland?”

“Among others, yes.”

Into the silence that followed, Austria said: “But if you’re so keen on talking about eagles, why don’t we talk about the third arm the eagle grows on the coat of arms of West Prussia?”

“That’s Poland’s fault, because it used to be the coat of arms of his province Royal Prussia”, Prussia snapped.

“Then what about the eagle on the coat of arms of the Free State of Prussia which looks like it’s doing a drunken dance?”

“That eagle takes to flight, looking back at what it has already achieved!”

“If you say so. It still looks like it’s drunk.”

“Austriaaa…”

“Before you take to spreading my precious music paper on the ground: May I remind you that it was _your_ idea to mock other people with their coats of arms in the first place?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The coat of arms of the Austrian independent record label Napalm Records from Eisenerz (Styria, Austria), founded in 1992: <http://glowsun.fr/wp-content/themes/nirvana/images/napalm_widget_nirvana.jpg> (I know it because some of my favourite metal bands are signed to it, e.g. Atrocity, Delain, Edenbridge, Kamelot, Leaves’ Eyes, Midnattsol, Nemesea, Sirenia, Tristania, Van Canto, and Xandria.)
> 
> The lesser coat of arms of the Austrian lands from 1915 by Hugo Gerard Ströhl (1851-1919): [http://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Datei:Wappen_Österreichische_Länder_1915_(Klein).png](http://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Datei:Wappen_%C3%96sterreichische_L%C3%A4nder_1915_\(Klein\).png)
> 
> The flag of Royal Prussia (1466-1772, a Polish province) / West Prussia (1772/93-1919/45): <http://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Datei:Flag_of_Prussia_(1466-1772)_Lob.svg>
> 
> The coat of arms of the Free State of Prussia: [http://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Datei:Coat_of_arms_of_Prussia_(1918–1933).svg](http://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Datei:Coat_of_arms_of_Prussia_\(1918%E2%80%931933\).svg)
> 
> Yes. And Finland is _the_ Metal Republic, of course, being the native country of bands such as Amorphis, Apocalyptica, the Children of Bodom, Ensiferum, HIM, Korpiklaani, Nightwish, Sonata Arctica, and Stratovarius, to name but a few.


	25. Yes! (Ireland & England)

_Vienna, 23 May 2015_

England wondered why on earth he had got roped into spending the afternoon with his sister in an Irish pub. Ireland was extremely sulky after her artist Molly Sterling hadn’t qualified for the Eurovision Song Contest final with her song “Playing With Numbers”. Her only reason for staying in Vienna, she claimed, was that she wanted to see her brother’s artists, Electro Velvet, “lose with that crappy love song of theirs”. What was more, she half ignored him and constantly checked on her smart phone.

 _How utterly impolite,_ he thought sulkily, resting his chin on his arms. _I’m so bored, but if I leave, she’ll just be angrier with me than usual._

Suddenly, Ireland raised her head and screamed: “They voted Yes!” England stared at her as she jumped on the counter and shouted: “Hey, guys! My people are amazing! Now who’s talking about conservative Catholics who are always behind their time? Dance with me!”

England looked at her in surprise as she held out her hand to him. “I thought you were sulky?”, he asked.

“Oh, c’mon, Arthur, who cares about the song contest when I’ve just become the only country in the world to legalize same-sex marriage via popular vote!”

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

England only hoped no one else in the pub had heard the “I’ve just become the only country” part while Ireland dragged him onto the counter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a matter of fact, the British song “Still in Love with You” by Electro Velvet did fail in the Song Contest (it only got five points), but France (four points), Austria and Germany (both zero points) were even worse off.


	26. Crazy Europeans (America & Hungary)

_12 December 1941_

America was eating hamburgers while he was making plans for his fight against Japan. Going to war had become inevitable, he thought, after the Japanese navy had attacked his Pacific Fleet at Pearl Harbor only four days earlier.

While he was still chewing on one of the hamburgers, his telephone started to ring. He picked it up and shouted “Mmmf?” into the receiver.

“Erm … hello?”, a female voice said. “Is this America I’m speaking to?”

America swallowed his bite. “Yes, it’s me”, he said in his typically loud voice. “Who’s there?”

“This is the Kingdom of Hungary. I’m calling you on behalf of my boss in order to declare war on you.”

America sighed. _Another one._ The German Empire had phoned him only the day before for just the same reason. “All right”, he said, “then tell your king…”

“I don’t have a king”, Hungary interrupted him.

“But didn’t you just say you were a kingdom?”

“Yes, but my boss is His Serene Highness the Regent of the Kingdom of Hungary, Admiral Horthy.”

“Your boss is an admiral? So your fleet will support Japan in his fight against…”

“No”, Hungary interrupted him once more. “I don’t have a fleet. I don’t even have a coast, so why would I have a fleet?”

“But you just said…” America sighed again. “Very well. So you certainly have territorial claims against one of our allies, don’t you?” There didn’t seem to be many European countries who didn’t fight over territory, after all.

“Oh, I do have territorial claims, but not against any of your allies”, Hungary explained. “My main territorial claims are against Romania.”

“So you will also fight against Romania?”

“Of course not!”, Hungary replied indignantly. “Why would I do that? I’m allied to Vlad, after all!”

America felt a massive headache approaching. “Do I get this right?”, he asked her. “You’re a kingdom without a king whose boss is an admiral without a fleet in a country without seaport? And you declare war against _me_ , even though your main territorial claims are against one of your _allies?”_

“Yes”, Hungary confirmed, “that’s about right.”

“Are you frickin’ crazy?!”

“No”, Hungary said cheerfully, “just European!”

America seriously wondered if that didn’t amount to the same thing, sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Miklós Horthy** (1868-1957) became Admiral of the Austro-Hungarian Navy during World War I, but Austria had to render its navy to the newly founded Kingdom of Serbs, Croats and Slovenes (“Kingdom of SHS”) on 31 October 1918. On that same day, the Kingdom of Hungary declared its exit from the real union with the Austrian Empire. Subsequently, King Charles IV of Hungary (Charles I of Austria, 1887-1922, Emperor 1916-1918) withdrew from government in Hungary on 13 November 1918. For a short time, Hungary was a republic (see my story “Autumn Roses”), but Horthy reintroduced monarchy as early as 1 March 1920 after his election as regent _(kormányzó)_ by the Hungarian National Council.
> 
> A regent usually acts in place of a king during a vacancy of a throne, but after Charles IV had tried in vain to become King of Hungary again, the Hungarian parliament decided to dethrone the House of Habsburg on 6 November 1921. This meant Hungary officially remained a kingdom but didn’t have a king any more. As early as then, the Hungarian witticism came into being that the Hungarians had an admiral without a fleet as head of state who ruled a country without a coast which was a kingdom without a king. The basis for this bizarre situation was the revisionist principle of legal continuity _(jogfolytonosság):_ Hungary advocated the legal position that it could only continue to claim the territories it had to convey away in the Treaty of Trianon (4 June 1920) if the legal situation of the time before 1918 formally persisted.


	27. Measuring Cleanliness (Switzerland & France)

“When you told me you still had some work to do in Zurich, I’d never have expected you meant _this_ kind of work”, France said and took another bored pull on his cigarette.

“What’s wrong with city cleaning?”, replied Switzerland. “Keeping your cities tidy is a very important task.” Then, he used a tablet computer to make a photo of a dustbin, which was slightly overstuffed. “Disturbance category two”, he murmured.

_“Disturbance category?”,_ France asked, stunned. “You _categorize_ your rubbish?”

“Why, yes, of course”, said Switzerland. “You have to be efficient if you want every single place as clean as possible. Disturbance category three means ‘perfectly clean’, while category zero means ‘dirty’.”

“And what’s the disturbance category for cigarettes?”

“Cigarettes and chewing gum are both category one”, Switzerland replied automatically. Then, he noticed the malicious grin spreading on France’s face. “No! _No!_ You indecent imbecile won’t soil my precious…”

France elegantly flicked the cigarette butt to the ground and ground it under his heel.

_“Fraaance!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m aware I already wrote about a similar topic in “Native Country of Cleanliness” … but then, so did the German TV show “Weltspiegel” (literally: “World Mirror”) from which I took the inspiration for _both_ of the ficlets.
> 
> The title “Measuring Cleanliness” (German: “die Vermessung der Sauberkeit”) is a direct quote from the Weltspiegel report broadcast on 2 August 2015. It alludes to the book “Die Vermessung der Welt” (English title: “Measuring the World”) by German author Daniel Kehlmann. (Great book, by the way!)


	28. Edelweiss, Edelweiss? (Austria & America)

_Dining Room of the White House, Washington, D.C., 28 February 1984_

Austria knew he was supposed to feel grateful for being invited on a state visit to the United States of America for the fist time. He also knew this evening’s dinner would probably put a massive strain on his nerves the moment he entered the dining room of the White House and saw his name plate: It was placed right next to the one of a certain “Alfred F. Jones”, the friendly, outgoing, optimistic, but at times also ignorant and obtrusive country known as America.

When everyone was seated, the speeches began. Both Austria and his current boss were fluent in English, even though Austria occasionally lapsed into an earlier stage of that language. His acquaintance with England dated back well into the Middle Ages, after all.

Of course, Austria was pleased to hear America’s boss call the Austro-American friendship “real, tangible, and enduring”, even if he didn’t quite see the point in mentioning the musical “The Sound of Music” as a symbol of that friendship.

“Hey, dude”, America addressed him after the speeches were over and everyone started to eat. “I just wanted to tell you everyone here really likes you and your people.”

“Er… thank you?”, Austria replied politely, pushing his glasses up his nose. They weren’t actually sliding down, but America’s were, even though the other country didn’t seem to notice. A very sarcastic voice inside Austria’s head told him to better not remind America that Hitler was Austrian-born as well.

“And your national anthem totally rocks, dude!”, Alfred went on. “I guess almost every one of my people knows it by heart!” Then, he actually started to sing in his loud voice: “Edelweiss, Edelweiss / Every morning you greet me…”

“Um… America…”, Austria said warily, “I don’t know how to break the news to you, but actually, that isn’t an Austrian song.” He had to make an effort to not snap at America: _How do you even dare to insinuate I could choose music as mediocre as this for my national anthem?_ How could the other country even come to think the national anthem of a German-speaking country was in English, anyway? But that was just like Alfred F. Jones, Austria supposed.

“Not?”, was the muffled response. It sounded more like _Mmmoff?,_ as America had just taken a rather large piece of meat into his mouth. The look with which he regarded Austria was all wide-eyed astonishment. He swallowed the food in his mouth and said, sounding rather panicky: “You mean … it isn’t the Austrian national anthem?”

Austria sighed. Now, he was more resigned than truly angry. “No, it’s a song written specifically for the Broadway musical _The Sound of Music”,_ he explained. “A musical written by two Americans in New York City, I’d like to point out. My national anthem is called ‘Land der Berge, Land am Strome’, _Land of the Mountains, land by the river.”_

“But … but surely everyone in Austria knows about _The Sound of Music?”,_ America said, full of hope. “After all, it celebrates your country!”

“No one in Austria has ever heard of it”, Austria replied sternly. “Just try it. Ask any one of my diplomats to join you in singing the Edelweiss song. No one will know it… Well, no one except for my ambassador here, I suppose.”

America looked at him like a kicked puppy and was uncharacteristically quiet for the rest of the dinner.

Austria felt like the mean parent who had just told his little kid that Father Christmas didn’t exist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Austria, Germany, and Switzerland, almost nobody has ever heard about the American Broadway musical (1959) turned film (1965) _The Sound of Music,_ which is set mostly in Salzburg. In the musical, the family von Trapp has to flee Austria when Nazi Germany annexes their homeland in 1938 (the so-called “Anschluss”). Baron von Trapp sings the hymn “Edelweiss”, praising Austria, in the Salzburg concert hall while facing evil Nazis, and it comes out as a symbol of passive resistance against the annexation.
> 
> Laurence Maslon claims in _The Sound of Music Companion_ (2006) that Ronald Reagan (1911-2004, 40 th president of the United States 1981-89) “supposedly thought the [‘Edelweiss’] song was, in fact, the actual Austrian national anthem” (p. 177). When Rudolf Kirchschläger (1915-2000, 8th president of Austria 1974-86) visited the U.S. in 1984, Reagan had the chapel of the Marines play “Edelweiss” during a state dinner on 28 February. Among the guests of honour attending that dinner also was Baroness Maria von Trapp, then aged 79. It may well be an urban legend that Reagan actually believed “Edelweiss” to be the Austrian national anthem, though: In his speech, he says the song as Baron von Trapp sings it became “a prayer for Austria itself. It is a prayer Americans join in – ‘Blossom of snow, may you bloom and grow -- and bless your homeland forever.’” <http://www.reagan.utexas.edu/archives/speeches/1984/22884c.htm> He didn’t state it was the Austrian national anthem, at least not in this speech. However, it seems U.S. Trade Representative William Emerson Brock III (*1930) thought so: During the dinner, Brock told Thomas Klestil (1932-2004), then Austrian ambassador and, later on, Austrian president from 1992 to 2004, there were “200 million Americans who know it’s [i.e. the “Edelweiss” song was] the Austrian national anthem”. At least, this is how Donnie Radcliffe and Sarah Booth Conroy quote him in their article “Campaign Waltzing” in the Washington Post on 29 February 1984 <http://www.washingtonpost.com/archive/lifestyle/1984/02/29/campaign-waltzing/c914aca2-5b06-4a22-a8d0-34e1804dad84/> (I took the idea for this ficlet from the dialogue between Brock and Klestil as quoted towards the end of the article).
> 
> Kirchschläger and the Austrian diplomats visiting the U.S. with him – among them Heinz Fischer (*1938), then Austrian Science and Research Minister (1983-7) and Austrian president since 2004 – had probably never heard the “Edelweiss” song before. That’s why I can imagine Reagan’s speech left them rather startled, as Norbert Rief states on 4 April 2004 in his article “‘Sound Of Music’: Der unbekannte Klang der Musik” (the subtitle means “The unknown sound of music”) in _Die Presse_ <http://diepresse.com/home/panorama/oesterreich/467493/Sound-Of-Music_Der-unbekannte-Klang-der-Musik> (very witty, actually, but German only, I’m sorry).


	29. Antonio (Austria & Spain)

_Madrid, some time past 2 February 1602_

Spain strode up and down the room like a caged animal. He was clutching some papers tightly, crumpling them in the process.

Austria paused from playing the clavichord and sighed. “I can’t concentrate when you do that, Spain. Would you be good enough to tell me what those papers are you’re so eager to destroy? I realise it is from one of your spies in England, but I’m not able to read your mind unless you _say something._ Is it bad news?” England had become one of Spain’s main rivals in the Americas more or less since their discovery, so Austria’s question was only reasonable.

“No”, Spain growled through gritted teeth. “It’s a transcript of one of those stupid _plays_ Arthur loves so much. One of my spies has made it during a performance.” 

“A play?” Austria raised an eyebrow.

“He’s mocking me!”, Spain burst out. “That brat, that stupid little _upstart_ on his stupid little island there is _mocking_ me!” Spain was accustomed to describe England in much more colourful vocabulary when he was on one of his ships, but he didn’t dare to use those words in the company of his well-mannered husband. After all, Spain knew his manners, too.

“In how far?” Austria’s expression didn’t change. Sometimes, Spain hated the fact that it was so hard to read him.

“You know, there’s this quill-driver called William Shakespeare who’s become fairly popular at the English court some time ago”, Spain said. Then, he shouted: “I bet Arthur _told_ him to call all of his characters who are in love with other men ‘Antonio’! First, there was this Venetian merchant who risks his life for someone called Bessanio, but that Bassanio ends up marrying a woman called Portia. Antonio is the only one who remains alone at the end of that play. Now, I’ve received the transcript of another play where there’s a sailor — mind you, a _sailor!_ — who rescues Sebastian, the heroine’s brother. This Antonio risks his life for him _as well,_ but that Sebastian falls in love at first sight with a woman called Olivia for apparently _no reason!_ And _again,_ Antonio ends up alone! There’s a pattern, Rodrigo, a _pattern!”_

“I’m sorry, Antonio, I know we don’t see each other often enough”, Austria said softly. He took Spain’s hand in his and made Spain’s anger vanish into thin air.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Many years later, Spain secretly asked himself if England and his playwright had cursed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The clavichord is a predecessor of the piano. The plays Spain mentions are _The Merchant of Venice_ (first printed in 1600) and _Twelfth Night_ (first recorded performance on 2 February 1602) by William Shakespeare (1564-1616). The “many years later” may refer to Austria and Spain’s “divorce” during the War of the Spanish Succession (1701-14), to Austria’s “marriage” to Hungary in 1867, or both.
> 
> A remark by NepheleNilfhain (from the German fandom) that England must have known Shakespeare prompted me to jot that little headcanon of mine. Thank you!


	30. How on Earth…? (Austria & Bolivia)

“Thank you so much for your medal”, Austria said politely. He tried to remember when he had last worn a medal as large as the Condor de los Andes en el grado de Gran Collar… _That’s been some time,_ he decided.

“It is me who has to thank you for your visit and for rescuing my president and me two years ago”, Bolivia replied.

“That was only natural”, Austria told her. “You had to land somewhere with your plane, and, technically, I’m still a neutral country, so…” He shrugged.

“Still, it was very kind of you and your president to allow our plane to land and to even visit us. That’s why I’d like to give you another present … um … Wait a minute, it’s still somewhere behind the curtains…” Bolivia quickly disappeared behind the curtains of the room where she and Austria were meeting. When she returned, she carried a huge canvas in her hands. She handed it to Austria. “Here. That’s you, made of coca leaves.”

Austria stared at the larger than life-sized portrait in bewilderment. “Thank you … but how on earth am I supposed to get _that_ through customs at my place?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The incident Bolivia refers to happened in the beginning of July in 2013: When the plane in which Bolivian president Evo Morales was travelling went over Europe, it ran out of petrol. Most European countries didn’t give it permission to land, because they suspected whistle-blower Edward Snowden on board (he wasn’t). Austria gave its permission, and Austrian president Heinz Fischer even visited Morales on the airport. Morales is still very grateful for this and believes Fischer saved his life.
> 
> This ficlet is inspired by a caption in the online version of the Austrian newspaper _Der Standard_ on 1 October 2015. It reads “With his coca leaf portrait, the president will be in need of an explanation at the Austrian customs” in an English translation. Here’s the link to the article: <http://derstandard.at/2000023077594/Fischer-begann-Bolivien-Besuch-mit-Treffen-mit-Morales>


	31. Subtle (Spain & Austria)

_Madrid, 1 October 1787_

_My dear Roderich,_

_My diplomats recently sent me a drama by a German-speaking poet who is apparently from the duchy of Württemberg. While reading it, I inevitably had to think about you: “I press thee to my bosom, and I feel / Thy throbbing heart beat wildly ‘gainst mine own. / And now all’s well again. In this embrace / My sick, sad heart is comforted. I hang / Upon my Roderigo’s neck!” Does this make me Don Carlos? After all, people say I was a little naïve, just like him. In any case, to me, Mr Schiller’s version of my Infante Carlos is distinctly more likeable than this capricious, violent child ever was during his lifetime. Given that, it is perhaps not disreputable to identify with his character._

_I do not wish to do you too much injustice, however, for as another poet from the Holy Roman Empire wrote: In the end, both of us are deceived deceivers. I am still uncertain if we were separated by the circumstances or by private interest: your own and that of your lords as well as that of Francis and Louis XIV. Now, I do not suspect either of them to be spearheads for a free Flanders. Still, when thinking of your calculating ways, I recognize my Roerich in Carlos’ Roderigo: the knight who sacrificed everything for his political aims, including this high ideal of friendship many of your poets advocate as of late._

_Think about it._

_Your Antonio_

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Austria lowered the letter. He could only shake his head in disbelief about the fact that there were still countries who deemed Spain naïve. This subtle form of verbal abuse was surely reserved for former allies, forsaken friends, and divorced husbands.

His bad, then, that all three of this applied to Antonio.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good grief, there’s a lot to this. (So much, actually, that I didn’t want to translate this ficlet to English—I originally wrote it in German, because both of the quotes are from German works of literature. When sithmarauder posted her new story [The Prince’s Grace](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4933210) and placed a quote from _Don Karlos_ in front of it, I decided to translate this at last.) I’m going to confine myself to the most necessary notes; feel free to ask if questions remain.
> 
> When I first heard that Austria’s human given name was “Roderich”, my initial association was the **Marquis de Posa** from the drama “Don Karlos” (1787) by Friedrich Schiller. (The translation I used is by R. D. Boylan who apparently decided to render “Karlos” as “Carlos” and “Roderich” as “Roderigo”.) The more I thought about it, the more I considered it rather fitting on several layers: The way I see him, Austria is quite calculating—not out of slyness, but due to precaution. He also is astute, sharp-tongued, and eloquent in general. That also applies to the Marquis de Posa; think of his speech to “grant us liberty of thought” _(Geben Sie Gedankenfreiheit!)_ in front of King Philip II. If you then deduce Roderich’s name from Gothic _rojdan_ “to speak” and _reiks_ “ruler” and somewhat freely render it as “ruler of words”…
> 
> The _Don Karlos_ quote is from Act I, Scene 2, and “deceived deceivers” is from _Nathan the Wise (Nathan der Weise,_ 1779) by Gotthold Ephraim Lessing (translation by William Taylor of Norwich): “Does each  / Love but himself? Ye’re all deceived deceivers” is what the judge from Nathan’s Ring Parable (Act III, Scene 7) tells the three sons with the three rings. Antonio uses the Lessing quote as an allusion to the **War of the Spanish Succession** (1701-14). To put it simply, the Austrian Habsburg family and the French Bourbon family argued over the heritage of the last Spanish Habsburg ruler Charles II. In the course of the war, a member of the Bourbon family, Philip V, came to the Spanish throne; the Spanish royal family are Bourbons to this very day.
> 
> Essentially, the point is that Schiller’s Marquis de Posa, whose given name is “Roderich”, is an ambivalent figure. Antonio/Spain transfers this to Roderich/Austria and reproaches him for it with regard to the War of the Spanish Succession.
> 
> Schiller’s Marquis de Posa advocates the liberty of the province Flanders. At the time of the historical Don Carlos (1545-68), Flanders belonged to the Spanish Empire; after the War of the Spanish Succession, it was part of the (Austrian) Habsburg Empire. It’s hardly surprising, then, that the personifications of Spain and Austria are, as Tonio puts it, not exactly spearheads for a free Flanders.


	32. Gold Train (Poland & Lithuania)

_October 2015_

“Care to visit the tunnels of Osówka?”, Poland had asked after a morning at Książ Castle in Wałbrzych, where he had dragged Lithuania during his latest visit. Lithuania knew better than to object. If Poland had set his mind on doing something—and Lithuania could tell from the determined look on his face that he had—trying to persuade him otherwise was a futile activity.

That was why Lithuania was standing in the midst of a tunnel now, shivering because the temperature within the mountain Osówka, 20 kilometres away from Wałbrzych, was much colder than on the outside.

“No one knows what the Nazis were doing here during World War II”, Poland explained. “I mean, we’re, like, sixteen storeys into the mountain, and even I don’t know how far all those maze-like tunnels stretch! There’s lots of speculation, of course. Like, they might have built this for an armaments factory or it might have been meant as a refuge for high-ranking Wehrmacht officers.”

“You’re showing this to me because of the Nazi gold train these two guys, the Pole and the German, claimed they’d discovered, don’t you?”, Lithuania asked. He had already suspected as much when Poland had invited him to Wałbrzych, where that train was supposedly situated.

“Yes”, Poland whispered with a curiously excited expression on his face. “And if you put your hand, like, _here”_ —he placed his fingers onto the tunnel wall—“you can even hear the gold train vibrate in the distance!”

“Very funny, Pol, really!”, Lithuania snapped. “I realise when you’re taking me for a fool!”

“But, Liet, what else should I do with that gold train story! I mean, to me, it’s pretty obvious that this is, like, totally a hoax! I don’t believe in that Nazi gold before I’ve seen it with my very eyes.” Then, a sly smile appeared on his face. “But it’s, like, damn good promotion for tourism. And when they come here, people probably won’t just travel to the place along the line of the Polish State Railway from Wrocław to Wałbrzych where those two guys say the train was and leave, but they’ll also go to, like, Osówka and Książ Castle and other places in Lower Silesia that are _really_ worth visiting! Pretty neat, isn’t it?”

„Yes, Pol, your tourism strategy is pretty neat“, Lithuania sighed. His teeth were clicking against each other while he was speaking. “But, _please,_ can we leave the tunnels now? I’m freezing!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story about the gold train (or trains) the Nazis buried underground in Lower Silesia when World War II was drawing to an end first came up in the 1970s. In August 2015, two men, a Pole (Piotr Koper) and a German (Andreas Richter), claimed they had located the train / one of the trains near Wałbrzych; it was all over the media. As of November 2015, city authorities in Wałbrzych allowed two teams to search for the train: one from the University of Technology at Kraków and another lead by the Pole and the German. So far (December 2015), nothing has been found, but, as Poland says, the legend of the gold train is very good for the Polish tourist industry.
> 
> Most of the information I used for the ficlet, including Poland’s “you can even hear the gold train vibrate in the distance”, is adapted from the article “Sonntagsspaziergang: Waldenburg und das Eulengebirge” (Sunday Stroll: Wałbrzych and the Owl Mountains) by Martin Sander _(Deutschlandfunk,_ 15.11.2015): <http://www.deutschlandfunk.de/niederschlesische-geschichte-waldenburg-und-das-eulengebirge.1242.de.html?dram:article_id=336908> (German only, I’m sorry).


	33. Ládo, ládo, ládo (Austria, Prussia, Czechia, Liechtenstein)

_Christmas at Austria’s house in Vienna, 2015_

Austria wondered why it was that all of his attempts to sing Christmas carols were bound to go awry. It wasn’t even possible to sing as simple a song as “O Christmas tree” without having some rascal butcher both text and music.

The rascal was Prussia, of course. He shouted at the top of his lungs: “O Christmas tree, o Christmas tree / You always shed your needles!” Needless to say that Austria’s tree did _not_ shed its needles.

Austria wondered why some people who typically drank beer seemed unable to digest wine without getting thoroughly intoxicated. Maybe this was the reason why Prussia acted irrationally when he was left alone with the wine-drinkers France and Spain for too long, Austria pondered. But then, it might simply have something to do with the _amount_ of wine Prussia was wont to drink…

“They are green in Christmas time”, Prussia continued, “and when Easter snow is white…” Austria couldn’t even argue with that: It had indeed snowed on Easter this year, and right now, it was much too warm for wintertime.

“Hey, _Prajzíček!_ Little Prussian!”, Czechia interrupted Austria’s reflections. She also sounded a little inebriated— _beer drinkers,_ Austria thought once more. “You wanna sing some funny song? I have a funny song for you!”

 _Oh dear,_ Austria thought, sighing inwardly. He had a sneaking suspicion what that “funny song” was.

And sure as hell, Czechia sang—or, rather, brawled—about the Battle of Königgrätz, _Hradec Králové,_ in 1866 and about her brave cannoneer Franz Jabůrek who fought on Austria’s side against Prussia and who was always loading his cannon: _“A u kanonu stál / a pořád ládo, ládo, ládo / a u kanonu stál / a furt jen ládoval…”_

“Mr Austria”, Liechtenstein addressed him after some time.

“Yes, my dear?”

“Are all Czech songs about defeats?”

“Some are, apparently.”

“And do Czech songs usually feature dismembered soldiers who try to dismember Prussian crown princes?”

Austria seriously had no idea how to reply to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “O Christmas tree” (German: „O Tannenbaum“) is a popular German Christmas carol. Of course, you can also spoof the German lyrics: „O Tannenbaum, o Tannenbaum / wie nadeln deine Blätter! Du grünst nicht nur zur Weihnachtszeit / nein, auch an Ostern, wenn es schneit...“
> 
> “Prajzíček” means “little Prussian” in Czech. The expression is a … bit derogatory.
> 
> The song Czechia sings is “Kanonýr Jabůrek”, which was first published in 1884 and mocks war heroism. Its text narrates the decisive Austrian defeat in the Battle of Königgrätz _(Hradec Králové_ in Czech) during the Austro-Prussian War of 1866 from the perspective of the fictional Bohemian cannoneer Franz/František Jabůrek. At the time, Bohemia was part of the Austrian Empire, so Jabůrek was fighting on Austria’s side. Even if Liechtenstein doesn’t know Czech, she’d understand the part about Crown Prince Frederick of Prussia because the lines in question are sung in a mixture of Czech and German: “V tom ho zahlíd Kronprinc Fridrich, / herje den Kerl erschieß ich, […]” (roughly: “And when he saw Crown Prince Frederick, he thought: Dear Lord, I’ll shoot that guy”). For lyrics (Czech only) and several recordings, see: <http://www.svejkmuseum.cz/Pisnicky/jaburek.htm>
> 
> As for Austria’s remarks about beer drinkers: Austria knows how to make (and drink) both decent wine and decent beer, even if he’s a bit more on the side of the wine drinkers. If Czechia is Bohemia (and I think she is), she’d be more into beer, whereas Moravia, the other part of the Czech Republic, rather produces (and drinks) wine.


	34. Two of a Kind (Scotland & Catalonia, England & Spain)

_Edinburgh, Scotland, October 2004_

“Ah think it’s quality.”

“Really?” Catalonia glanced at Scotland, an uneasy smile flickering across his face. “There’s been so much criticism … and the costs have risen a lot…”

“Quality”, Scotland repeated, smiling back affirmatively at Catalonia. “And don’t worry too much aboot what people say. The architectural critics _luv_ it, and I suppose that’s what will matter in the end. They say it melts into the landscape and creates a nexus between man-made culture and the landscape … lemme show you…” He pulled an issue of the _Architectural Review_ out of his briefcase and flicked through it. “Ah, here: They write it’s a _Celtic-Catalan cocktail to blow both minds and budgets_ and that it creates _a new seam of National Romanticism refined and reinterpreted for the twenty-first century._ Sounds well good, innit?”

“A _Celtic-Catalan cocktail,_ huh? I like that.” Catalonia’s smile broadened, his initial uncertainty forgotten.

Scotland laughed. “Aye, and that cocktail’s pure _magic!_ Two proud countries who seek independence from their brothers clan together in order to construct a building that’s awash with light and _open_ in order to show my glaikit bastard of a brother what a modern parliament should be like!” He extended a hand towards Catalonia. “My actual name is Alba, by the way. Alasdair, if you prefer human names.”

“Catalunya”, Catalonia said and grabbed Scotland’s hand for a firm shake. “Bernat, if you prefer.”

“C’mon, neebur, let’s have a bevvy”, said Scotland and put his arm around Catalonia’s shoulders jovially. “All that talk about cocktails has made me hoora thirsty.”

“I only understand half of what you say, but getting something to drink sounds like a decent idea.”

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

England flicked his mobile phone open and called Spain. He had his number on speed dial since he knew a Catalan architect had designed the new building for the Scottish parliament at Holyrood.

_“Mmh? Inglaterra?”_ a sleepy voice greeted him.

“Worst-case scenario, Tony. Scotland’s actually becoming friends with him!”

_“¿Con quién?”_ wondered Spain, still sounding rather sleepy. _“And don’t call me Tony; that’s your prime minister’s given name.”_

“I mean your stupid _brother,_ Antonio!”, England barked into his phone.

_“Which one?”_

Legitimate question. England didn’t particularly like his brothers either. “Catalonia”, he replied.

_“Ah, sí, Cataluñ—Wait, what? Escocia is becoming friends with Cataluña?”_ All at once, Spain sounded a lot less sleepy.

“Yes, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you all the time, silly twat! I think we should start to rework our anti-independence strategies.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Holyrood (the Scottish Parliament Building at Holyrood to the east of the city centre of Edinburgh, inaugurated in October 2004) was designed by a Catalan architect, Enric Miralles Moya (1955-2000). The symbolism isn’t lost on me.
> 
> Both quotes from the _Architectural Review_ can be found in Catherine Slessor, “Scotland the Brave: Operatic in Both Conception and Execution, Scotland's Long Awaited New Parliament Will Help a Fledgling Institution to Mature and Evolve”, in: _Architectural Review_ 216 (2004), pp. 46-63, on p. 48.
> 
> I named Catalunya (Catalonia’s name in Catalan; the spelling _Cataluña_ is Castilian/Spanish) after Bernard of Septimania (795-844), who was Count of Barcelona from 826 to 832 and from 835 to his execution in 844.
> 
> The British prime minister in 2004 was Tony Blair (*1953, British Prime Minister 1997-2007). He initiated referendums for devolved parliaments in Scotland and Wales after his first election to office in 1997.
> 
> Some Scots English terms I used:  
> \- quality: great, excellent  
> \- glaikit: stupid  
> \- bevvy (beverage): drink  
> \- neebur (neighbour): friend, mate  
> \- hoora: very  
> Feel free to correct me if I didn’t use them properly.
> 
> _Con quién_ means “with whom” in Spanish. _Inglaterra_ is England and _Escocia_ is Scotland.


	35. An Urban Myth? (Russia & Switzerland)

“Why do we have to take the metro to your house, Russia?”, Switzerland asked when they stood on the escalator that took them down to the metro station Revolution Square, Ploshchad Revolyutsii. He was at Russia’s place for business affairs—whenever he visited Moscow, it was on business—and Russia had invited him to stay at his house. Of course, he had agreed. Russia might be scary at times, but saving the expenses for a hotel could never be wrong.

“Erm…” Russia tried to hide his face behind his scarf; a sure sign he was blushing. “My style of driving … you know … my driver license…”

“You lost your driver license?” Switzerland looked at Russia in mild surprise. On the one hand, he wasn’t _actually_ surprised because he was familiar with Russia’s driving style. On the other hand, he had assumed the avatar of Russia was among those who were “more equal” and didn’t have to worry about losing his driver license. “But why didn’t we take a cab, then?”

“I wanted to show you something”, Russia said mysteriously.

“In the _metro station?”_

Russia nodded; it was almost imperceptible because he still hid behind his scarf.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

“Oh, so you wanted to show me the metro station because it looks like a palace?”, Switzerland said when they were underground. They were standing in a hall before the platform where lustres hung from the ceiling and reliefs and mosaics were everywhere.

“Da,” Russia said. “That’s not what I wanted to show you most, though. Look at those bronze sculptures in the alcoves; aren’t they beautiful?”

Switzerland looked—and failed to see what was so special about them for Russia. To him, the statues looked pretty much like the average works of art Socialist realism had created.

“There are 76 statues in total”, Russia said proudly. “They show the people of the Soviet Union: farmers, industrial workers, soldiers…”

“That’s a really large number of statues for just one metro station,” Switzerland had to admit.

“…and they have _magical powers!”,_ Russia continued, beaming at Switzerland with his trademark smile.

Switzerland didn’t really know how to look; he didn’t want to offend Russia by showing him his incredulity. In the end, he settled for a neutral facial expression. Neutral country—neutral expression.

“You see, students from the Bauman Technical University say certain wishes will come true when you touch certain statues,” Russia explained. “There’s the border guard’s dog, for example.” He pointed at it. “It’s probably best known among all of the statues because stroking its snout brings good luck in exams.”

“Ah … yes?” Switzerland, Calvinist Protestant that he was, still tried to make sense of what Russia told him. “So this is sort of a … socialist urban myth?”

“It’s not a myth!”, Russia objected sulkily. “It actually works! Look, if a woman touches the leg of this statue of a mother with a little boy over there, it will help her to have children. One of my assistants did so after she got married and she has two healthy little children now!”

_She’d probably have had healthy children anyway,_ Switzerland thought to himself. He had to pull himself together; otherwise, he would have told Russia his actual opinion about the statues.

“And this one”—Russia continued his sightseeing tour, gesturing at the statue of a farmer’s chanticleer—“will bring you good luck in financial matters!”

In the same moment, they heard the sounds of an incoming train from afar.

“I guess we’d better hurry if we want to catch the next train!”, Russia exclaimed and turned to walk through one of the marble arches in order to reach the platform.

Switzerland shot the chanticleer a doubtful glance. Then, he quickly brushed his fingers over it before he hurried after Russia.

Even if it didn’t work, it couldn’t hurt, after all, could it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ploshchad Revolyutsii (Пло́щадь Револю́ции) is a metro station in central Moscow below Revolution Square that opened in 1938. The station was designed by Soviet architect Alexey Nikolayevich Dushkin (Алексе́й Никола́евич Ду́шкин, 1904-1977) and the bronze sculptures were formed by Matvey Genrikhovich Manizer (Матве́й Ге́нрихович Ма́низер, 1891-1966). I got the idea for this fic after watching a Weltspiegel report about the statues.


	36. Even If…? (Austria & Spain)

Austria glanced quickly at his watch and suppressed a sigh. There was still plenty of time before the world conference started. As always _(often,_ often, _not always,_ he chided himself), he had accompanied Germany, who had arrived _way_ too early. Sadly, the hotel most of the countries were staying in didn’t provide access to a piano for its guests and he hadn’t brought any of his musical instruments. At least, it offered free access to newspapers from almost all countries of the world in the lobby, so he could pass the time reading.

After a while, Spain consorted with him and started to read as well. By his standards, he was surprisingly early for the conference, but Austria questioned neither his presence nor his behaviour. They didn’t even so much as _greet_ each other—Austria considered it unnecessary, and apparently, Spain thought the same.

“Rodrigo?” Spain addressed him after a while.

 _“Hm?”_ was Austria’s only response. He didn’t even look up.

“If the circumstances warranted it, would you remarry?”

 _“Pardon?”_ Austria nearly dropped his newspaper. After recovering from his initial shock, his natural sarcasm kicked in and he replied: “You see, when _our_ marriage was annulled, I lost my position as a militarily successful imperial estate, and when my marriage with Elizaveta was divorced, I lost most of my empire. At the end of yet _another_ marriage, I’d probably _cease to exist._ So no, thank you very much, I wouldn’t marry ever again if I had any say in that.”

“Even if it wasn’t for real?” A tiny smile lay on Spain’s lips when he showed Austria the Spanish-language newspaper he was reading.

 _“Falsas bodas_ —fake weddings?” Austria blinked.

“Yeah. Seems like the young don’t marry any more at Argentina’s, but they still _love_ wedding celebrations. So some decide to revel with all due pomp and circumstance, just skipping the actual marriage vows. This is becoming increasingly popular, the article says.” Spain smirked. “Getting the marriage ceremony, but not another wedding band—wouldn’t that be the ideal solution for you?”

Austria laughed, even if it was mostly out of relief. Then, he replied curtly: “No.”

“No?” Spain was crestfallen.

“No,” Austria repeated. “I’m afraid neither you nor me nor any other country have spare money to waste on a that sort of charade. Also, a fake wedding doesn’t make _any_ sense from an economical point of view, except for the people who gain money in this way.”

Spain pouted. “You’re so _unromantic!_ I can’t believe there are still people who seriously wonder if you and Switzerland are blood relatives.”

Austria shrugged nonchalantly and read on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I took the information about the fake weddings from the German TV programme “Weltspiegel” (ARD, 20.12.2016). _Imperial estate_ refers to the “states” of the Holy Roman Empire.


	37. Familiar Sounds (Prussia & Austria)

“Does this ever stop playing classical music?” Prussia nagged, watching Austria’s car radio tauntingly as if it was responsible for its owner’s choice in music.

“I set the radio to a _classical music_ station, Gilbert. What do you expect it to play, French House?”

“Actually, I don’t even expect you to know what French House is,” Prussia grumbled. Then, he paused and pricked up his ears. “Wait a minute… isn’t that the Nokia ringtone?”

“That’s the _Gran Vals,_ a waltz for guitar by Francisco Tárrega,” Austria replied. “But yes, you’re right, it’s the Nokia ringtone.”

“So Antonio had no objections against Tino using the melody for his mobile phones?”

“Tonio even felt honoured. After all, Tino could have chosen a melody by Jean Sibelius or another one of his own composers. Besides, Tino gives him the latest Nokia version for free since then, and you know how short of money Tonio usually is.”

“Ah, _that’s why!_ And there I was wondering why he doesn’t choose another ringtone which can’t be that easily confused with the ringtone of other mobiles…”

“Well.” Austria shrugged without taking his hands off the steering wheel. “What really irritates me is that Bernat always has the same phone model because Tárrega was from Catalonia. That can get a little confusing if both of them are in the same room and a mobile starts ringing.”

“Those two at least agree about their composers, after all, don’t they?”

“Indeed! Even this can lead to awkward situations, though. It already happened that they left their mobiles somewhere in the house and mistook the wrong mobile for their own. You should have seen Tonio’s face when Catalonia received a message from Scotland after the elections at his place: _Hello old chap! Perhaps now independence will work out for you at last! In any case, my brothers and me wish you all the best._ In parentheses: _Except for that one humourless curmudgeon—but I don’t have to mention that, you have one of them at your own place, after all…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Francisco de Asís Tárrega y Eixea (1852-1909, in Catalan Francesc d’Assís Tàrrega i Eixea) was a guitarist and composer. His tremolo etude _Recuerdos de la Alhambra_ (“Memories from the Alhambra”) and the aforementioned _Gran Vals_ (“Grand Waltz”) are among his best-known compositions, the latter due to the “Nokia ringtone” in bars 13 to 16.
> 
> Jean Sibelius (1865-1957, actually Johan Julius Christian Sibelius) is regarded as one of the most important and best known composers of Finland.


	38. That Can’t Be Right (Spain & Catalonia)

Spain hummed a guitar tune while seasoning his paella. He had invited his relatives to a Sunday meal and was happy all of them had accepted the invitation, even Catalonia and Basque country. After adding a little more pepper to his dish, he called out loud: _“Dinner’s ready!”_

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Smiling quietly to himself, Spain finished the washing-up. The meal had gone very well and his relatives had now gathered in the living room, chatting to each other. Spain turned to pick up his phone from the kitchen table. He had decided not to carry it around while cooking after he had almost dropped it into his tomato salad one day.

The table was empty. There was no phone. He frowned.

“Now did I put that somewhere else…” he mumbled to himself and let his eyes wander around in the kitchen. Still no phone.

_Maybe I left it in the dining room,_ he wondered. _I hope I don’t have to ask the others…_ There was almost no member of his family who hadn’t chided him at some point for being too distracted.

When he went into the adjoining corridor, he immediately spotted a small object on a chest of drawers. Sighing in relief, he picked it up and checked if he had received any calls or messages. Indeed—there was one new message waiting for him.

_Hey ye wee laddies, hope ye survived that family meal at your bro’s! At least yer idiot brother is a better cook than mine… Anyway, check out my revisions to the draft of our Roadmap to Independence!_

Spain blinked in puzzlement. The message was posted in a group called “Independence! Now!” That couldn’t be his phone.

“Ah, there you are, brother! I think I accidentally picked up the wrong phone”, Spain heard a voice behind his back. He turned to see Catalonia standing in the doorway to his living room, an identical phone model in his hand.

Spain all but glowered. “I wonder what made you think so”, he said sulkily.

“Well, I’m not in a message group that constantly changes its name from ‘Beer! Now!’ to ‘Wine! Now!’ and back”, Catalonia pointed out, handing him his phone while snatching his own from Spain’s hands.

“Oh”, Spain sighed, “so Francis and Gilbert are fighting over the alcohol question again?” He didn’t get a reply; Catalonia was busy reading his message. _Why is it that my brother seems to discuss a lot more serious topics with his buddies than me?_ he wondered while diplomatically changing the group name to “Booze! Now!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for KahoriFutunaka (German fandom) who requested a follow-up to “Familiar Sounds”.
> 
> The message is from Scotland, of course, and he writes “laddies” in the plural because Basque country apparently is in the “Independence! Now!” group as well. Everything else should be clear.


	39. Confiscated (Russia & Prussia)

_Moscow, winter 1958/1959_

When Russia entered his living room, Prussia was sitting on Russia’s couch, boots on the upholstery. (Russia knew his boss expected him to call Prussia the _German Democratic Republic_ or _GDR_ now, but he had known Prussia for centuries and old habits died hard. Besides, _Пруссия_ was easier for him to pronounce.)

What struck Russia as odd wasn’t Prussia’s pastime activity in itself—Prussia was much more of an avid reader than he let on; Russia knew that at least since the time in the eighteenth century when they had both striven to become more cultured—but the fact that Prussia was reading _in Russian._ Prussia usually preferred books in his native German.

“Show me that book,” Russia ordered.

“Later,” Prussia replied distractedly. “I’m reading.”

The room temperature seemed to drop when Russia’s purple aura started to glow.

“All right, all right,” Prussia sighed and held the cover in a way so that Russia could see the title. “There. Can I read on now?”

Instead of a reply, Russia yanked the book out of Prussia’s hands. “Do you really believe I don’t know that _Dr Zhivago_ is anti-socialist propaganda and discredits the Revolution?” he said grimly. “This book is confiscated! _Confiscated!”_ Russia repeated and stomped out of the room.

“But I wanted to know if Yuri and Lara meet again after the Revolution!” Prussia pouted.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Russia knew he was actually expected to report Prussia to the KGB in cases of disobedience, but… But _that novel!_ He loved literature, and how he had _longed_ to read the melancholic love story between Yuri Zhivago and Lara Guichard since it got first published in Italian! There was no way he could allow the KGB to actually confiscate that book.

_Well,_ Russia thought to himself while he hid _Dr Zhivago_ in the gap between his mattress and the bed frame, _whosoever of my enemies bootlegged that novel actually did me a favour._

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Somewhere across the Pacific Ocean, America sneezed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a wee bit of clarification: Russia and Prussia _(Пруссия_ is “Prussia” in Cyrillic) have a long history together, which is apparently often overlooked by the majority of the Hetalia fandom. I don’t ship those two romantically, but I see them as former allies, ex-rivals and sort-of-buddies (in the 18 th/19th centuries, in particular) who went through tough times (in the 20th century, in particular). In any case, Prussia must be far less afraid of Russia than most people in the fandom seem to believe.
> 
> The story behind this chapter: Russian writer Boris Leonidovich Pasternak (Борис Леонидович Пастернак, 1890-1960) gave the manuscript of his now-famous novel _Dr Zhivago (Доктор Живаго)_ to an Italian Marxist publisher in 1956. Pasternak had no hope his book would get published in the Soviet Union because it didn’t conform to Soviet cultural policy and didn’t show the Russian Revolution of 1917 in a good light. The publisher, Giangiacomo Feltrinelli (1926-1972), actually released an Italian version of _Dr Zhivago_ in 1957.
> 
> Apparently, the CIA then managed to get photographs of the manuscript, and it bootlegged copies of the original Russian version in the Vatican pavilion during the Expo 58 world fair in Brussels. Journalists Peter Finn and Petra Couvée tell this story in _The Zhivago Affair_ (2014), using declassified CIA documents. You can read a bit more about their book in the article “The Zhivago Affair review – how a novel became a weapon in the cold war” by Christopher Bray in _The Guardian_ (06.07.2014, <http://www.theguardian.com/books/2014/jul/06/the-zhivago-affair-cia-soviet-review-novel-weapon-cold-war>). Prussia (who used to be—or still is?—the Teutonic Order, after all) might have retained some ties to the Vatican and/or Catholics at Russia’s place and, because of that, might have laid his hands on a copy of _Dr Zhivago_ in Russian. I think both Prussia and Russia secretly have a soft spot for melancholic love stories, but never cared much whether political allusions in those stories supported or didn’t support post-revolutionary Russia…


	40. A Newborn Child in British India (England & India)

_Somewhere in Central India, 1920s_

England regretted his decision to visit India when the temperature climbed higher and higher and the air became sweltering and heavy. He wondered how his colony could still appear so unfazed by the heat, but India did.

England still marvelled at how well India took the heat while his colony was talking to one of his countrymen in a straight cut kurta. They were speaking in Hindi, so England wasn’t able to understand what they were talking about anyway.

After a while, the man went away, gesturing at India and England to follow him.

“What did he tell you?” England asked.

“He said a Maharani nearby had born a daughter five days ago and we’re now invited to the festivities,” India explained. “I’m sorry, England Sahib, I couldn’t very well decline. The Maharaja’s family and me have been friends for…” He used his hands to calculate. “For about two hundred years,” he decided.

“It’s all right, India,” England soothed his colony. “I think it will be interesting for me to partake in some festivities of your people.”

“If you say so,” India said doubtingly.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Several hours later, England started to realise why India had been so reluctant to accept the invitation. For the most part, the “festivities” consisted in a number of men squatting in the garden in front of the Maharaja’s palace, listening to music that was playing all the time. England learned that the men, including the Maharaja and his friends, weren’t allowed to see mother and child for five days after the child’s birth, but were obliged to sleep in the compound and listen to the music that continued to play _for fifteen days._ As England and India had come on the fifth day, they were now obliged to listen to mediocre music that would go on _all night._

This was psychological torture, England decided. For mother, child and everyone else involved.

He was not amused. Not amused at all. And he couldn’t sleep.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Sometime in the middle of the night—England had to have dozed off despite the music, but felt absolutely knackered—he heard unusual sounds. England blinked and sat up. He heard a male voice singing in what he believed to be C major, accompanied by elaborate rhythms of a drum. The music was unlike what he head heard before—it was _beautiful._

“India?” he whispered to the sleeping form beside him. “India, do you hear this?”

“What?” India yawned. “Lemme sleep!”

“But, India, don’t you hear this? This music…”

“Yeah, ’s pretty decent, innit?” India slurred drowsily before curling up in his sleeping position again.

“Indeed!” England said and crossed his legs, listening. “But why they saved their best singer until…” England glanced at his watch. “…’til three o’clock in the morning will always remain a mystery to me.”

“’S my people”, India mumbled. “What do you expect?”

 _Yes,_ England pondered. _What did I expect._

Not music this beautiful, in any case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> – A kurta is a traditional Indian garment (a knee-length shirt).  
> – A Maharani is the wife of a Maharaja (Sanskrit for “great ruler”).  
> – “Sahib” is a term of Arabic origin and means “master” or “owner”. It was used for Europeans in British India as an equivalent to “Sir”.
> 
> The ficlet is based on a scene the English writer E.M. Forster (1879-1970) describes in his book _The Hill of Devi_ (1953; “Letters of 1921”, section “Birth of a Baby”, 9 May 1921): “I am as far as ever from understanding Indian singing, but have no doubt that I was listening to great art, it was so complicated and yet so passionate. The singer (man) and the drummer were of almost equal importance and wove round the chord of C major elaborate patterns that came to an end at the same moment—at least that’s as near as I can explain it: it was like Western music reflected in trembling water, and it continued in a single burst for half an hour.”


	41. Something to Remind Me (Germany)

_Moscow, 12 September 1990_

Germany couldn’t keep his hands from shaking. He could hardly believe this was real; that Russia, America, England, and France would actually renounce all rights they still held in his place after they had occupied it in the aftermath of World War II.

At first, Russia had hesitated; then, England and France had feared he would become too strong and pose a threat for them once more. America had been the only one who had supported him all the time during the negotiations.

Germany didn’t think about strength. All he wanted was being free—being with his brother again. He sneaked a glance at Gilbert, who signed the final settlement resolutely in his neat handwriting. Germany _so hoped_ they would be reunited.

Then, it was his turn to take the pen. He was the final person to sign the treaty, and he had to make a conscious effort to keep his handwriting legible.

In the brief moment in which no one looked, he caused the pen vanish into his sleeve. Was it so wrong to want at least _this_ as a concrete reminder of the moment on which he built all his hopes?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hans-Dietrich Genscher (1927-2016), who was German foreign minister in 1990, once admitted in a TV documentary that he nicked the pen with which the Treaty on the Final Settlement With Respect to Germany (the so-called “Two Plus Four Agreement”) was signed. In this treaty, the U.S., the U.K., the Soviet Union and France gave Germany full sovereignty and paved the way for Germany’s reunification.
> 
> Genscher will probably remain forever the man on the balcony of the Embassy of Germany in Prague on 30 September 1989, who told the East German refugees on the premises that their departure… was granted, probably. But no one ever heard the rest of his sentence because it was drowned in cheers.
> 
> He died yesterday (31 March 2016).


	42. Something to Remind Me, Part II (Germany & Prussia)

_Moscow, 12 September 1990_

Prussia sat on the sofa in Germany’s hotel room, boots on the coffee table, a smug grin plastered on his face. 

“We’re happy for the time being, aren’t we, West?” he declared, ruffling his brother’s hair affectionately.

“There are still many things that could go wrong…” Germany pointed out, trying to smooth his otherwise impeccably neat hair. Still, the corners of his mouth quirked upward.

“Yeah, but let’s enjoy this evening and deal with problems when they arise!” Prussia said with a dismissive wave of the hand. “Why does my little brother always have to be such a responsible and serious person? That’s boring!” he cooed. “So boooring!”

“Actually”, Germany said, “I did a very irresponsible thing today. I…” He produced the pen with which he had signed the Final Settlement. “I stole a pen?” Germany blushed.

Prussia stared at him, looking stunned. Then, he burst into laughter. Germany’s face gradually assumed the colour of Spain’s tomatoes.

Wordlessly, Prussia whipped an object out of his trouser pocket and held it in front of Germany’s face. It was another pen, very similar to the one Germany held in his hands. _Suspiciously_ similar.

“Great minds think alike!” Prussia commented, still laughing.

“Fools seldom differ is what you mean,” Germany retorted. He was still red in his face, but the smile was back on his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, Hans-Dietrich Genscher wasn’t the only one who nicked the pen with which he signed the “Two Plus Four Agreement” in 1990. According to the article „Im Bademantel zur deutschen Einheit“ (“Towards German Unification in Bathrobes”) by Sabine Kinkartz on the website of Germany’s international broadcaster _Deutsche Welle_ (<http://www.dw.com/de/im-bademantel-zur-deutschen-einheit/a-18710142>), Lothar de Maizière (*1940) did the same. In 1990, de Maizière, descendant of a Huguenot family, became the only democratically elected prime minister of the German Democratic Republic (GDR). He is the cousin of Thomas de Maizière (*1954), Germany’s Federal Minister of the Interior since 2013.


	43. Food Wars (France, America, Russia)

**2003**

“So you won’t help me, France?” America yelled down the line. He sounded reproachful. “You won’t send troops to Iraq in order to help me free him from that tyrant Saddam Hussein? Is this your last word?”

“Yes, Alfred,” France sighed. “This is my last word.” He tucked the receiver of his telephone under his chin, farther away from his abused ear. “I’m sorry, boy, but I don’t believe Saddam has nuclear weapons, and I think it’s unreasonable to wage war against him.”

“Then you leave me no choice. I’ll tell everybody not to sell French fries any more. They’re now called…” America made a dramatic pause. “Freedom Fries!” he yelled triumphantly. France stared at the receiver, dumbfounded.

“But they’re actually—”

America rang off.

“Actually from Belgium,” France said, shaking his head. “Boy, sometimes you don’t make any sense.”

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

**2014**

“So you’re going to impose sanctions on my economy as well?” Russia asked. He sounded very sad.

“The whole EU is going to impose sanctions on you”, France said, not unkindly. “I’m sorry, Russia, but we can’t just let you invade Crimea as well as the eastern part of Ukraine and pretend nothing happened.”

“Then you leave me no choice,” Russia replied defiantly. “In turn, I’ll tell my boss to impose an import ban…” He made a dramatic pause. “An import ban on your cheese!”

“But, Russia, don’t you think…”

Russia rang off.

“Don’t you think you’re cutting off your nose to spite your face?” France sighed. It was Russia’s business if he denied himself France’s delicious cheese, and still… _Russia, sometimes you don’t make any sense,_ he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> France didn’t support the U.S. in the 2003 invasion of Iraq. As a consequence, the Republican Bob Ney (*1954), then Chairman of the Committee on House Administration, renamed French fries to “Freedom Fries” on the menu of the three cafeterias in the House of Representatives. Actually, France and Belgium argue in which country French fries were originally invented. For the purpose of the story, I decided that France also believes they’re from Belgium.
> 
> When the EU imposed economic and political sanctions against Russia in 2014, Russia reacted with a ban on food produced in the EU. As a consequence, non-Russian food/restaurants are increasingly hard to find in Russia. (Some weeks ago, I watched a report about an Italian restaurant in Russia that was on the brink of closure because the owners couldn’t buy the ingredients they needed any more.)
> 
> I believe it’s beyond France to understand how people can use food as a “weapon” in politics. I don’t think he’d do that—but then, he thinks his own food is the best anyway. ;)


	44. Wayward Notes (Austria)

It was a bright, sunny Saturday morning. Austria had opened the windows to his music room wide, letting in some pleasant rays of spring sun, and was tuning his violin. He had decided to play _Tzigane_ for this year’s anniversary of his wedding with Hungary on the 8 th of June because Ravel’s piece was reminiscent of Hungarian folk music. Since it was a complex composition, he intended to practice it a few times. In order to do so, he only needed to place the notes onto his music stand and…

But where were they? Austria could have _sworn_ he had placed them right on top of the closed lid of his piano this morning. True, there was a pile of notes on the lid, but he saw _at a glance_ that _Tzigane_ wasn’t among them.

Or did he? Austria suddenly wasn’t that certain any more. After all, it had happened before that he had thought something had been moved when it had actually remained at the same place. He started to sift through the loose-leaf collection of pieces he had played during the past weeks, mumbling the names of the composers to himself in a low voice.

“…Brahms, Schubert, Beethoven, Beethoven, Smetana, Mendelssohn-Bartholdy, Rahmaninoff, Chopin, Chopin, Chopin, Bartók, Stravinsky, Telemann, Mozart, Mozart, Mozart, Liszt, Hindemith, Bach— _oh!_ I was looking for that piece two days ago!—Lanner, Strauss, Strauss, Schönberg, Webern, Debussy, Lehár, Haydn, Haydn…”

In the end, he had looked through every single sheet of music in that pile. Still no _Tsigane._ With an irritated frown, Austria tapped on the translucent drawing paper that had rested on top of it. It made a rustling sound with every tap.

_Wait a minute … drawing paper? Why is there drawing paper on top of that pile?_

Then, Austria had a sudden revelation. He rushed to his kitchen and opened the oven door.

_Bingo._ There was his _Tsigane._

Earlier this morning, he had intended to bake a Gugelhupf for coffee and cake with Hungary and Czechia on Sunday afternoon. Then, the telephone had rung. He had attempted to prepare the cake while listening to Germany who had called him in order to talk about some important EU business. When Germany hadn’t stopped talking his ears off, he had postponed baking to the afternoon.

Austria pieced together that during that call, he had to have accidentally put the baking parchment— _of course_ it was baking parchment, why would he still use drawing paper in the age of copying machines?—on top of the piano lid and put the notes in the oven instead. He sighed.

_Thank goodness no one else found the notes in the oven,_ he thought. _They would have mocked me for getting so easily distracted._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rhapsodic piece _Tsigane_ (1924) is considered one of the most demanding works for violin. French composer Maurice Ravel (1875-1937) actually wrote it for a Hungarian violinist, Jelly d’Arányi (1893-1966). _Tsigane_ is a French term for “gypsy”, but the title of Ravel’s work doesn’t refer to the Romani people (a dispersed, traditionally nomadic ethnic group that is originally from Northern India but lives mostly in Europe—please don’t call them “gypsies”, this term is derogatory). Instead, “gypsy style” was a term used at the time to describe a kind of musical exoticism that incorporated Eastern European/Hungarian folk tunes.


	45. Peculiar Sleeping Habits (Germany, Prussia, Luxembourg)

It was 2 A.M. when Prussia’s phone buzzed. He debated with himself if he should answer it or if he should just pretend he hadn’t heard it and get back to sleep. Glancing at the display, he realised it was his brother and decided to pick up.

“This is the Awesome Me,” he grunted in a peeved tone. “Who dares to bug me in the middle of the night?”

“You know fully well who this is,” Germany replied, sounding equally annoyed. “The thing is…” He paused. “I need your advice.”

“Oooh, my little brother needs my advice!” Prussia cooed. “Now, what can I do for you, my child?”

“I already regret calling you,” Germany grumbled. “The thing is … I don’t know who else would keep this a secret.”

“Come on, don’t let me dangle. What happened?”

“Um…” Germany hesitated. “Luxembourg is sleeping in my cabin on the plane to this conference…”

“Yeah, so what,” Prussia said in a bored tone. “Don’t you have another bed in that cabin or something?”

“I do, but…” His brother’s voice sunk to a whisper. “He’s naked!” Germany sounded mortified.

Prussia almost fell off his bed as he was seized with a fit of laughter.

“This. Is. Not. Funny.” His brother sounded really angry now.

“So what,” Prussia said again. “Some people do that. Sleep naked, I mean. Not my problem. Deal with it. I’m going to hang up.”

“Prussia, you can’t…”

But he had already disconnected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The foreign ministers of Germany, Frank-Walter Steinmeier, and Luxembourg, Jean Asselborn, are good friends. They were guests in a German talk show (“Lanz”) about friendship between men on 20 September 2012. During this show, Asselborn told Markus Lanz, the host, that Steinmeier had once given him a lift in his official plane when they were both on their way to a Latin American summit. Asselborn said that since it was very warm in that plane, an old machine that had once belonged to GDR leader Erich Honecker, he had been “lying asleep next to Frank-Walter [Steinmeier] in the cabin without wearing pyjamas. But we were lying in separate beds” (see [“TV-Talk bei Lanz: Asselborn lag nackt in Honeckers Flieger”](http://www.wort.lu/de/lokales/tv-talk-bei-lanz-asselborn-lag-nackt-in-honeckers-flieger-505c3272e4b02d19d7d4a84b), in: _Luxemburger Wort,_ 21.09.2012). I just don’t think Germany would have been able to handle this as calmly as Steinmeier apparently did…


	46. Unbearded (Austria/Spain)

_Sometime in the 16 th century_

Spain was the first person Austria saw when he awoke in the morning. His husband stood in front of the mirror in his nightgown, inspecting his chin with a rarely seen frown on his face.

“Antonio, what are you doing?” Austria murmured sleepily.

“I want to have a beard but my hair won’t grow. I mean, I don’t look like a child any more, so shouldn’t I start to get more facial hair?” Spain furrowed his brow even more, apparently trying to detect hair on his chin that looked as if it would grow a little longer over time.

“What does it matter, anyway,” Austria said, rolled on his back and tucked the blanket closer around himself.

“What does it _matter?”_ Spain exclaimed. _“Of course_ it matters! A beard is a symbol of honour, and losing your beard means losing your honour! I mean, in the poem, no one who tugged on El Cid’s long beard would go unpunished!”

Austria sighed, pushing himself up to a sitting position. “Spain,” he said. “Don’t be foolish. Do you really think anyone’s honour is defined by their beards? It is your _deeds_ that decide whether you are an honourable man.”

Spain glanced from Austria to his reflection in the mirror and back. He looked dubious.

“Anyway,” Austria said in an ever so slightly irritated tone, “I’m going back to sleep.” With determination, he rolled over to the bedside where no one was standing and tucked the blanket over his head.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Several years later, Spain’s facial hair started to sprout. When he realised this, he stood in front of his mirror for long minutes, debating with himself whether he should finally, finally grow a beard. Yet all he saw was the irritation on Austria’s face during their discussion about beards.

In the end, he shaved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My theory as to why Spain is clean-shaved. (A beard would have fit the cliché about Spanish men, after all.)
> 
>  _El Cantar de Mio Cid (c._ 1201-1207/1235) is a poem about the deeds of the Castilian nobleman Rodrigo Díaz de Vivar _(c._ 1041/47-1099) who is depicted as an idealised medieval knight. In the poem, beards are indeed a symbol of honour, and it is very important not to lose your beard—not to have it touched by anyone who isn’t supposed to touch it, even.


	47. Cherry Stones (Czechia, Hungary, Austria)

“I’m sure that little jacket you’re sewing will be lovely when it’s finished!” Hungary said with an appreciative glance at Czechia’s needlework. They were sitting on a picnic blanket in front of Hungary’s house, enjoying the final rays of this day’s late summer sun. There was a bowl full of cherries between the two of them. Every now and then, Hungary took a pair of fruit from the bowl, ate them and casually spit the stones at a knot her cherry tree had formed.

“I guess so. Still, it’s more work than I thought it would be.” Czechia sighed, casting a longing look at the cherries. When Hungary had invited her to spend the weekend at Budapest, she had taken along her needlework. She wanted to complete her new traditional costume before the end of September, when St Wenceslas Day was celebrated at her place. Of course, she was unable to eat any of the cherries while she needed both of her hands to sew…

“Want some, too?” Hungary suddenly asked.

“Well, actually…” Czechia glanced from the cherries to her host and blinked.

“You should have said so earlier,” Hungary said in a slightly reproachful tone. She picked another pair of fruit, plucked one of them in order to eat it herself and held the other cherry close to Czechia’s face, so that she could eat it with her mouth. She then followed Hungary’s example, trying to spit the stone at the knot. She didn’t even hit the tree. Czechia frowned.

“Come on, show me you can do better than that!” Hungary encouraged her. She took another pair of cherries, taking one herself and holding the other so that Czechia was able to eat it with her mouth. This time, Czechia at least hit the tree with her cherry stone, even if she still missed the knot.

“See?” Hungary said, lightly touching her shoulder to Czechia’s, careful not to accidentally make her sting her hand with a needle. “With a bit of practice, you can do it.”

“Yup. Course I can.” Czechia looked her straight in the face and grinned.

Behind them, someone cleared his throat. They turned simultaneously, finding Austria standing behind them. He looked a little flustered.

“Um … sorry, Eliza, I didn’t know you already had a visitor.” He nodded to Czechia. “Hello, Hedvika.” Blinking, he added: “Eliza, I … just need to talk to you about some … uh, political thing. I’m going to wait in the house. Take your time, you two.” With these words, he turned round on his heel and walked to Hungary’s house.

“Sorry, he wanted to spend the evening with you and I got in the way,” Czechia said apologetically. After a pause for reflection, she added: “But what the hell was he just _thinking?”_

“‘Bout the irks and quirks of being in an open relationship, I guess.” Hungary chuckled.

“Wait a minute.” Czechia blinked. “He wasn’t just thinking I … you and I … I mean…?”

“Yup.” Hungary laughed. “I bet he was thinking just that.”

“Hm.” Czechia thought. “Open relationship, you said? That is to say … you wouldn’t mind sharing, would you? I mean, you wouldn’t get mad at me if I tried…?”

“Nope.” Hungary grinned. “I know, he may be annoying at times, but he’s quite the eye candy. If he likes you and you like him, that’s fine by me. I wouldn’t even mind sharing him in a more literal way.”

_“Pardon?”_ Czechia blurted out, blushing. “He’d _never_ agree to that!” _Neither would I,_ she added privately.

“Oh, you know, there were many things he thought he’d never agree to,” Hungary said in a deliberately casual way. “Like wearing that dress for Halloween, if you remember.” Her grin became predatory.

Czechia made a mental note to reconsider the positions on her list of scariest people she knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Run, Austria, _run…_
> 
> Written for Betelgeuze from Czechia who writes for the German-language fandom. Don’t take this too seriously, guys. :D
> 
> St Wenceslas Day on 28 September is a public holiday in Czechia. This day commemorates the death of St Wenceslas, the patron saint and first Christian king of Bohemia who was killed by his brother Boleslav in 935 AD.


	48. A Real Estonian (Estonia, Germany)

Germany had met up with Estonia at the other nation’s place in Tallinn for a talk about business relations and technology. He was particularly interested in how Estonia’s e-governance systems worked, so Estonia needed more time to explain this than estimated.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m getting hungry,” Estonia said after a while. “Should we order some food at a restaurant and have it delivered here? That way, we could save time and maybe continue our talks while we’re eating.”

“That sounds brilliant!” It was the idea of saving time in particular that appealed to Germany.

After deciding on their meals on the restaurant’s website, accessed through Estonia’s tablet computer, Estonia finally placed an order. He paid their food online. Some minutes passed in which they continued their talks. Then, Estonia received a message informing him that his order had arrived.

“Would you accompany me to the door?” Estonia said. Germany didn’t understand why Estonia didn’t just deal with the delivery man on his own, but he complied.

That was until he actually saw how their meals had been delivered.

There was no delivery man. There was a robot. A tiny robot that looked like a suitcase on four wheels, with a compartment like that of a vacuum cleaner that had their food in it.

“I’m impressed,” Germany said in all honesty. “But … uh, sorry to bring this up, but don’t you think robots like these will take over people’s jobs?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Estonia replied. “People are ordering more and more things online. There’s enough room in the market for humans and robots alike. And besides, this is Estonia. A real Estonian always has to have the latest technology of the world. That’s what I wanted to show you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a report about delivery robots in Estonia in the German TV news magazine “heute journal” (ZDF), 5 January 2017. The sentence “A real Estonian always has to have the latest technology of the world” is a direct quote from an Estonian man in that report.


	49. Coinage (Austria & Ottoman Empire)

_1765, Vienna_

Austria still found it strangely fascinating that the Ottoman Empire, his enemy of old, now entered his city as a merchant, selling coffee and other goods such as fashionable peacock feathers to him. When he saw Sadıq’s face, however, he realised that this wasn’t an ordinary visit. Something was wrong.

“Can you tell me what this is?” the Ottoman Empire inquired, spinning a silver coin in his hand before slapping it on the table in front of his host.

“That’s the latest issue of our Maria Theresa thaler,” Austria stated. “Is there anything wrong with it?”

_“That_ is wrong.” The Ottoman Empire tapped on the coin’s front with his finger. “She’s _veiled.”_

“Yes,” Austria said. “The Emperor died not long ago, and she mandated she be portrayed with a widow’s veil from now on.”

“Quite frankly…” Sadıq took a deep breath. “I don’t like it. I don’t _want_ it. Give me some of the older coins instead.”

Austria blinked. “I don’t understand how this is a problem. It’s just minted silver, after all.”

“But it looks like a forgery.”

“Look,” Austria said, taking the coin in his hands and holding it towards the Ottoman Empire. “You can feel the embossments of the new coins as well. Their edges are also grooved, so you can’t scrape them. They’re just like the old ones.”

“But, but…”

Austria could tell Sadıq was _pouting._ In a way, this was amusing. Then again… There was nothing funny about the Ottoman Empire not accepting his coins anymore. Sadıq had become a valued trading partner, and the Maria Theresa thaler was his favourite coin. Roderich sighed.

“The problem is the veil, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Sadıq confirmed immediately. “I don’t like it.” He was still sulking, but Austria thought he saw another emotion, too… Was that a blush? Roderich wasn’t sure. He tilted his head to the side, shooting his trading partner an inquisitive glance.

“Please accept my apologies when I say I consider it strange that _you,_ of all people, insist on having a _portrait_ of an _unveiled woman_ on a coin.”

“I don’t know if that is strange.” Sadıq was definitely red in the face now, a rare sight on this tall, tanned man. “You know… When else do I ever get to see a portrait of an unveiled woman?”

Austria thought about that. He sighed once again. 

“All right. I’ll see what I can do for you.”

It wasn’t difficult to find a mint willing to issue coins with an older die specifically for trade with the Ottoman Empire. When a new Maria Theresa thaler was reissued a few years later, it was decided to portray her with only a small veil, a compromise both the Empress and the Ottoman merchants could agree on. In the end, this was just a matter of selling goods. Well … at least for Austria.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Maria Theresa thaler _(Maria-Theresien-Taler, MTT)_ is a silver bullion coin that was first minted in 1741, shortly after the beginning of the reign of Maria Theresa _(Maria Theresia,_ 1717-1780) as Archduchess of Austria in 1740. When her husband Francis I _(Franz Stephan,_ 1708-1765, Emperor 1745-1765) died unexpectedly, Maria Theresa mandated she be portrayed with a widow’s veil from then on … with the result that her silver coins were hardly accepted in the Levant/the eastern Mediterranean anymore. That was why coins with an older die and coins with but a small veil were issued. When her portrait was changed in 1772, merchants from the Levant accepted it. The most widely issued variant, however, is the one that shows Maria Theresa’s portrait of 1780, the year she died. Coins with this portrait and a small cross after the year 1780 are still issued to this very day. They were widely used as official currency in the Ottoman Empire/West Asia and West Africa up until the 1960s (!).
> 
> For this information, see: Heinz Moser and Heinz Tursky. Tirols Beitrag zur Überwindung eines regionalen Münzwesens. In: _Von Stadtstaaten und Imperien: Kleinterritorien und Großreiche im historischen Vergleich: Tagungsbericht des 24. Österreichischen Historikertages, Innsbruck, 20.-23. September 2005._ Eds. Christoph Haidacher and Richard Schober. Innsbruck: Wagner. 2006. 470-477. 475. You can see a modern issue of the 1780 coin here: <https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:MTThaler.png>


	50. Bach (Austria/Prussia or Austria & Prussia)

_Vienna on a Friday evening in summer_

“Done!” Prussia sighed in relief. Austria and him had had dinner on the patio of Austria’s house when suddenly, thunder had started to roll. Initially, they had hoped the thunderstorm would drift past but instead, the sky had become darker and darker … At last, they had decided to carry the table, both chairs and the leftovers from their dinner inside.

“Close call,” sighed Austria, pointing at the first drops of rain at the patio door with his chin. He flopped down on his sofa with another sigh.

“This week was quite stressful as a whole,” he confessed to Prussia. “Summer break starts soon, but there are a lot of things that need to be done by that time….” He trailed off. “Some Bach would be nice now.”

“Pfff, Specs, there’s a thunderstorm with heavy rain raging outside, and the first thing you think of is a _stream?”_

Austria _tsk_ ed but didn’t react otherwise. The lack of a snappy comeback made Prussia look more closely. There were dark bags under Austria’s eyes. He looked tired … too tired to care about coming up with a witty remark? Quite worrying!

Most of all, it was this that made Prussia fetch his flute and a few sheets of music from his travel bag. He habitually carried the instrument from Berlin to Vienna and back since there was always the possibility Austria and him would play a duet. Not bothering to use a music stand, he put the sheet music on the sofa’s backrest while seating himself on the armrest.

“Would Bach’s _Partita for traverso solo_ in A minor be okay with you?”

“Lovely,” Austria sighed. It was amazing how much heartfelt gratitude an otherwise reserved person like him could put in this one word. It made Prussia want to reach over and brush stray strands of hair out of Austria’s face.

Instead, he put the flute to his lips, and the first notes of the _Partita for traverso solo_ drifted through Austria’s living room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by backstroke-for-gays’ headcanon about Prussia listening to Bach’s Goldberg Variations during a meeting [on tumblr](http://katemarley.tumblr.com/post/163302967091/for-the-character-meme-take-a-lovely-aph-prussia) as well as last week’s weather. The _Partita for traverso solo (Partita für Flöte allein,_ BWV 1013) is one of multiple pieces Johann Sebastian Bach (1685-1750) has written for transverse flute, a predecessor of today’s flute.


End file.
